


Shooting Range

by BaskingShark



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, F/M, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, nothing too bad, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 19:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2479628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaskingShark/pseuds/BaskingShark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A les Misereables Western AU. Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac are bounty hunters. Grantaire, Jehan, Bahorel, Feuilly and a few others are train robbers. Enjolras is determined to find Montparnasse, who also likes to steal things, as well as killing people, but somehow he ends up having to catch Grantaire instead. But unfortunately for Enjolras, Grantaire has the annoying knack of being two steps ahead of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shooting Range

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to the brilliant [m--emrys](http://m--emrys.tumblr.com/) for this [AMAZING](http://m--emrys.tumblr.com/private/100388570385/tumblr_ndoigjuLAX1qhpqrg) [FANART](http://m--emrys.tumblr.com/private/100388967525/tumblr_ndoiucfhJj1qhpqrg).
> 
> Also a disclaimer that I am not from America and have never been there, so all the places mentioned are either from google maps, or from a cowboy film. So prepare for the least geographically accurate fic ever.

The rumbling of the metal track grew into a roar, as a train rolled through the trees spitting smoke high into the sky. The machine's metal was stained black with soot, there were several wooden carriages at the front, before the passenger carriages, each with a different fading logo painted on the side announcing what goods it was carrying.

Bahorel crouched in the trees pushing his stetson onto his head. As the first passenger carriage sped past he flung himself forward. He landed clumsily on the roof of the train, but was easily able to stay on. It was a relatively simple trick if you had the guts to jump. He'd been doing it for years, ever since he's been a young boy who'd simply wanted to get away from a boring life.

Now he moved forward, gracefully for a man of his size, keeping low, easily crossing from one carriage to the next by leaping across the gap. He stopped as he reached the front of the train, now only the heap of dirty black coal stood between him and the two drivers. He remained as still as he could, the roar of the trains wheels deafening him to the rest of the world, as he waited for the signal.

Just as his legs began to burn with the strain of staying still for so long he spotted the tendrils of white smoke rising above the trees ahead of them. Slowly, so as not to drop it, Bahorel pulled his pistol out from where it hung on his belt, before stepping forward onto the heap of coal. Each footstep induced an unpleasant scrapping noise, similar to gravel crunching underfoot, except this was far louder. Yet the screeching of the wheels and the wail of the engine meant that the drivers were still unaware of him. All it took was a small leap forward to land easily inside the drivers compartment, and the two men were more than willing to co-operate once they'd caught sight of his gun.

“Stop the train.” he commanded as it hurtled around a corner and the small cluster of men and horses came into view. The older of the drivers strained to pull down the breaking leaver, as his younger companion, who couldn't have been half of Bahorel's age, was practically halfway out of the drivers cart with excitement muttering “I'll bet that's Grantaire himself,”.

Bahorel couldn't help but roll his eyes slightly. Their _'infamous leader'_ wasn't quite so heroic as the stories made him out to be. Some said that he's had his heart broken as a young man and was trying to get vengeance on the ones who'd killed the love of his life, others said that he was a rebel at heart, and everything he did was an attempt to overrun the system; and they were some of the more plausible explanations (Bahorel's personal favourite was that his friend was actually a ghost returned from the dead to seek retribution for his own murder). But for small towns folk the most interesting stories were the ones about dramatic chases and gory battles. So the true facts became less and less important, and over time popular gossip was held to be truth, meaning they were now some of the most well known and feared outlaws in the country.

Fate did like it's little joke, he supposed as the people waiting for them drew closer.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Grantaire let out another huffed sigh, once again bored. He was sat a little back from the railway track, just inside the tree line, his back resting against what he'd deemed the least uncomfortable tree trunk, as he took a deep drink from his bottle. Jehan was closest to him, still sat on his horse, over-cautious man that he was. The day was almost too hot to be doing anything, even in the shade of the leaves the air was stifling, Grantaire lifted his hat off and drew a hand across his brow as he yawned. The noise of the train was indeed getting louder, so he forced himself to his feet and stepped into the raw sunlight. His eyes scrunched up automatically, everything was too bright out here, the slight hangover from the night before added with the screech of the train might not have been helping.

The train appeared around the corner of the hill, getting bigger ever second. He could just about make out Bahorel's hulking figure as the train started to slow down, eventually coming to a stop almost directly in front of them.

“Well timed,” Jehan remarked cheerfully. Even though he appeared to be small and slight, with long blond hair feminine features he was probably the most vicious if provoked, Grantaire had been on the receiving end several time. Not to mention Jehan was the best shot of anyone he'd ever met, Grantaire had seen him shoot a man through his eye with a pistol at 50 yards.

“Bahorel stepped off the train, tucking his gun back into his belt, now that there were others to keep the driver form setting off again. The drivers apprentice followed Bahorel off the train, watching as the men around him began breaking into one of the carts near the front of the train used for carrying cargo.

“You want something?” Grantaire asked the younger man, suspicious of his interest, they didn't want yet another person running off telling stories about them.

“Oh no, I just thought I'd watch,” The boy replied sounding almost gleeful. His eyes shining at the prospect of meeting such well known people. He'd probably return home spewing stories of how amazing there gang were and how he had actually talked to Grantaire.

Grantaire himself didn't quite understand the bravado attached to being the leader of a gang of outlaws.

To be honest he thought it seemed strange how he'd somehow ended up as the leader of group. It wasn't as if he was inspiring or charismatic, he took great care in not believing in anything. The main reason he'd become _'infamous'_ if you could call it that was because he'd evaded the law for so long. Even the crimes that he was wanted for weren't all that terrible; theft was one thing and murder was another. The people Grantaire killed were such twisted human beings that they wouldn't have been missed by their own families, yet alone anyone else. If anything he was probably doing the local authorities a favour, but they were in the pockets of the rich businessmen in the cities, and they hated any outlaws, particularly ones like Grantaire and the rest of his group. It might have had something to do with them stealing their money whenever they got the opportunity. But in truth they probably needed it more than the city men with their famous names who weren't going to go bankrupt just because a couple of drifters picked off one of their trains every once in a while.

Either way, it meant that they were all elevated to almost a celebrity status, and got them quite a lot of free drinks so it wasn't all bad. Feuilly had located the safe kept inside the bank's own cart, he lay down the small amount of dynamite needed to break through the metal. The small explosion resonated in the forests surrounding them, causing the buzz of voices to grow as the passengers further down the train become increasingly nervous.

But before most of them started to realise what had happened the group was gone again, taking the bank's money with them.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Gold afternoon light spilled through the open window, cutting across the room. Though the furnishings were simple, the room was still by far the most extravagant in the town. The uneven plaster walls contrasted with the plain but polished wooden furniture. In the corners stood a bookcase and a drinking cabinet, a sturdy oak desk sat at the centre of the room, atop a worn rug. Sat behind it was a rather portentous man with greying hair. The brown suit he wore was slightly too small for his rounded stomach. Three young men stood on the other side of the desk, looking somewhat out of place in the clean orderly room. All three's clothes were well-worn, but clean. The pistols hanging at their sides were expensive, and the men were clean shaven, seemingly well washed, yet their skin was tanned, telling of a life spent outdoors.

The man closest to the desk was the youngest, barely a man, his eyes were a brilliant blue. He had golden hair which hung in ringlets, half hidden beneath his Stetson. Though his face was currently twisted with anger he was undoubtedly beautiful.

"But it isn't an effective use of resources,” he hissed, his hands balled into fists by his sides.

The man behind the desk simply continued to stir his delicate cup of coffee, his eyes never leaving his desk.

"I'm very sorry Mr- er?"

"Enjolras," the younger man replied through gritted teeth.

"Yes, Mr Enjolras," he clearly hadn't picked up on the anger in the other's voice, or if he did then he simply ignored it "I'm sorry that you feel that way, but we really must insist. Not that the company underestimates the work that you do, but in this instance Mr E. H. Herman is very adamant."

"But what is the point of going after petty thieves, when there are murderers running loose!" Enjolras replied his voice rising with irritation.

Finally the older man looked up, also beginning to get annoyed.

"Unfortunately the three of you haven't yet proven that you are effective at bounty hunting, you are still very young. If you are able to show your skill such by catching a gang such as this one, then we would be happy for you to assist us in more dangerous cases." He spoke very slowly, as though talking to a child.

Enjolras opened his mouth, now doubt to shout an angry reply, when his was interrupted by Combeferre, the taller of his two companions. His face was more tanned than Enjolras', and his hair was darker, his brown eyes radiated kindness, but when he spoke his voice was icy "Thank you for your time sheriff,".

Combeferre then had to almost drag Enjolras out the door with him. The blond only had time to growl "I thought that the sheriff was supposed to be brave and just," before he was outside.

By the time the two of them made it down the worn wooden steps to the post where their horses were tied Enjolras had calmed down enough to talk, but was still seething.

"He's corrupt," The younger man claimed "he doesn't give a damn about how old we are, or if we're in any danger. The only thing he cares about is the amount of money the Union Pacific Railroad is paying him to catch them. The reward for them is paid for by the police, so then he keeps all the money for himself."

"True," Combeferre replied, once Enjolras had ranted himself into silence "We have already proven that we're capable of finding Montparnasse, and he knows it. But we need the information that they have if we're going to catch him. If we just do this job quickly it'll make them happy and much more likely to help us again in the future." Combeferre was using his reasonable voice and it was making Enjolras felt more foolish by the second. Before he began another half-hearted argument their other companion pushed open the door and joined them.

Courfeyrac looked much younger than he was. His dimples, and heart shaped face make him seem almost child-like. But he was much more muscular than his companions, and far stronger. But it was unusual that he'd ever show it. Courfeyrac must have been one of the most easy-going and likeable people in the whole world, but he also had a mischievous streak and a brilliant ability for manipulating others. Enjolras had on many occasions contemplated what a fine criminal Courfeyrac would have made in another life. But instead he'd been born to a well off family in the city, and had mainly been brought to the small towns in the very south of America by his friends.

"Finished?" He asked lazily, leaning forward on the wooden railings his hat obscuring most of his face. Enjolras nodded mutely in reply.

"Excellent, now the last train robbery was just outside of Tucumcari, so I suggest that that is where we go." Courfeyrac informed them as he pulled himself onto his horse without even a hint of elegance or grace. The other two followed suit, but were able to maintain some dignity in the manoeuvre. Courfeyrac was unable to stop himself from casting a longing glance at the little saloon opposite them before guiding is horse around and setting off at a slow walk, falling into line beside the other two.

 

~ ~ ~

 

White steam billowed from the top of the train as it stopped on the track. All things considered Grantaire felt as though they had done fairly well, it had only been a few weeks since they'd last robbed a train. This one had no passengers on at all, just cargo carts. Including one that was painted with the bank's emblem.

"We're in," Bahorel shouted to the group at large, the wide wooden door slide open with a rhythmic clunk. Grantaire hoisted himself inside, closely followed by Jehan and Feuilly, before letting out a groan. It seemed that they'd taken money off this particular bank once too often. Previously the small vault containing the money had been small and rather thin, nothing a little dynamite couldn't take care off, but now it was at least three times the size of the old one, and covered in thick pieces of metal, forming several large locks.

"Well, shit," Grantaire muttered, pulling his hat off and sighing "What d'you think? Can we do it?"

Feuilly crouched down, examining the locked vault "Well, it's worth a shot, I guess," he replied, running his fingers along the heavy locks, trying to find a fault in the metal "I'll give it a go, but it'll probably take a little longer."

"Alright, you do what you gotta do, we'll be outside," Jehan replied, jumping nimbly out of the cart, Grantaire followed, though somewhat less elegantly, the bright sun making him squint a little. They'd had to stop this train a little more in the open, in front off it there was the beginnings of some hills, trees scattered here and there, but on the other side just open scrub land, a few plants here and there, but an altogether baron landscape. If it weren't for the dark train track stretching to the horizon then it would be as if the area was untouched by man.

Despite the thicker locks it still didn't take Feuilly long to finish his work.

“Well that 'ought to do it,” he muttered several minutes later, returning to the rest of them before lighting the fuse.

A bang light a cannon ripped through the air as the cart containing the vault and the two either side of it exploded in a shower of rubble, only narrowly missing the men, all of whom had ducked for cover.

Jehan was the first to recover “Think you used enough dynamite there Feuilly?” He asked, taking his hat off and trying to wipe away the newly accumulated layer of dust, his eyes wandering to what now looked more like a train wreck than an actual train. The red head shot him a dirty look but he wasn't able to keep it for long, and within a moment the two were laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. All the bank notes that hadn't been destroyed by the explosion were fluttering down to the ground, several of the other gang members eagerly grabbing handfuls of them and stuffing them into their pockets.

Grantaire simply stood and watched, taking yet another deep drink from his bottle, as his friends joined in, a slight smirk on his face.

The cloud of dust and sand was just starting to settle when something caught Feuilly's eye. “What the hell is that?” He was looking past the others, his eyes trained on something further down the track.

There was a second train approaching, but there was something odd about it, aside from the front of the train which contained the engine, there was only one cart, and the whole thing was moving much slower than a train usually would, huffing it's way along the line until it came to a stop around fifty yards behind them on the train track.

The men by the first train froze, eyeing the new arrival suspiciously. Grantaire made a mental note of where his horse was and began to angle himself so he was ready to run towards it if he needed. This simply hadn't happened before, two trains didn't run so closely together, and yet here in was. The sign of the Union Pacific Railroad stamped onto the side. It wasn't right, and Grantaire didn't have all that many qualms about making a run for it and leaving the others behind, most of them were annoying kids who liked to romanticise life as an outlaw, his only real friends were Jehan, Bahorel and Feuilly, and Grantaire could tell that they were thinking the exact same thing that he was.

The whistle on top of the smaller train screeched as it belched white smoke, the single cart door was flung wide open and three riders leapt from the train car, their horses finding footing easily and breaking into a gallop. Grantaire's surprise only lasted a second until the first shot was fired and the man to his left fell backwards, dead before he had even reached the floor, the bullet hole directly between his eyes.

That was enough to break the men's trace. Most scrabbled to get to their horses, a few were stupid enough to try and snatch a bit more money, they were the next to be targeted.

Grantaire frantically pulled himself onto a horse, he wasn't even sure was his, but it was the closest so it was his now. He might not believe in anything, and find the world revolting, but he was still determined to live and spend many more years getting drunk each night. On his other side he could see Jehan all but jump onto his mare, Bahorel and Feuilly already riding away furiously. Grantaire and Jehan followed suit without hesitation.

Looking back he could see that the three riders were where they had been just moments before, he kicked his horse on, urging it to go faster.

"Split up," Bahorel's voice drifted back to Grantaire over the thunder of hooves. On the command Bahorel and Feuilly veered sharply to the left, Grantaire chased after Jehan's retreating form, going in almost the opposite direction.

"How many are following us?" Grantaire panted as they started to reach higher ground.

"All of 'em" Jehan replied after a quick glance backwards.

"All of them?" Grantaire swivelled completely around on his seat, sure enough the three riders were following them, still in formation "What's the matter with the others?"

"Oh I don't know, maybe because the rail road company's want you dead," Jehan called back to him, the spindly trees thinning into scrub land, Jehan pushed his mare on even faster, Grantaire followed.

It didn't take long for him to catch up with Jehan, and then they were galloping side by side, their horses snorting from the strain, patches of sweat glistening on their shoulder. Scrub land turned into sand for a brief time before dark red rock formations littered the horizon.

Navigating their horses through the rocks was difficult, Grantaire's horse in particular didn't seem to like the closed spaces. It's ears flattened and it let out a pitiful whiny as he forced it on. They only stopped once they'd crossed through the rocky pass, they both turned, scanning the land for any sight of their pursuers. They found none; the entire land seemed eerily quite.

Jehan turned his horse around so as to see better “I think we lost them, do you think we lost them?”

In truth he wasn't sure. It would be difficult to track anyone over rock, but even so Grantaire felt uneasy. The riders, some of the sheriff's men most likely, hadn't been riding that hard, just fast enough to keep on their trail. Yet their horses had been in good health, he could tell from a mile off, if they'd wanted to ride them down then they would have. The most logical explanation for their leisurely pace was that they were saving their energy, meaning they wouldn't be giving up any time soon.

"No, I don't." Grantaire concluded.

"I guess not," his companion pointed to the skyline just over the rocks, there was an unmistakable dust cloud spiralling into the sky telling of several horses "Deming is the next town over," Jehan continued "It'll be harder for them to find us in a town,"

Grantaire knew that Jehan was right, but it did little to help his sudden nervousness. Grantaire agreed nonetheless. The two of them spurred their horses on again.

At least they'd be able to get a decent drink in town, he supposed.

 

~ ~ ~

 

By the time Jehan and Grantaire arrived in Deming it was already dark, they'd seen no signs that they were being followed, but that didn't stop the pair of them moving quickly.

Yellow light from the windows illuminated the wide streets. Even so it was difficult to make out the buildings, luckily for the two of them they knew exactly where they wanted to go. Despite the darkness the tavern was hard to miss; three stories high, the upper floors full of guest's rooms, the downstairs housing the bar. Even at the end of the street drunken voices and music was audible. Around the back was the stables. Grantaire dismounted easily, handing the reins of his horse to Jehan. The inside of the stables was dimly lit by a single lantern hanging in one corner, but the many animals moving around cast large shadows. Horses and mules of every imaginable colour were cramped inside stalls, or simply tied to posts. They shifted uneasily at the intruders, a few snorting and throwing up their large heads. Grantaire did his best to push a few of them to the side, trying to make way for Jehan, the stalls at the back were occupied, but it didn't take long for Grantaire to shift the inhabitants to one side, and their own horses in. Because they were so far at the back it was impossible to see their horses from the stable door, neither of the men were sure if the people following them had managed to get a good look at their horses, or their faces for that matter, but they weren't taking any chances.

Once that was finished they headed through the swinging saloon doors and into the tavern. Surprisingly there was a lot of seats left at the bar, most of the people were sat at the small wooden tables, gambling and playing cards. So Grantaire and Jehan slumped onto a couple of bar stools, pulling their hats off, both of them tired by the days ride; it had been a while since they'd been chased.

"Fancy seeing you around," Said a familiar voice.

Grantaire's mouth curled into a grin "'Ponine, did I ever mention how much of a wonderful and beautiful human being you are,"

"Flattery, gets you nowhere," she replied, yet as she spoke she pulled out two bottles and set them on the table. The tavern was owned and run by the Éponine's family, one of two in the town, though this one was generally cheaper, and Grantaire was certain that a lot of the men enjoyed the company of Éponine. There was no doubt that she was pretty, with long dark hair, big brown eyes, and beautiful olive skin, even her younger sister Azelma was growing into a good looking girl, though where their good looks came from was somewhat of a mystery, as neither of their parents could be considered handsome. Neither were they kind people, the only reason Grantaire and Jehan opted for this establishment was because of their friendship with Éponine. They'd known each other for quite some time, she'd helped them out of a few awkward situations before now, and was incidentally the best card player Grantaire had ever met, or rather, was the best at cheating, and was always welcoming to them. Certainly some of the other guests were less than savoury, and when staying at the Tavern there was a fairly high chance of one 'loosing' something of value, though Grantaire was certain that the Thenardiers were responsible rather than the other guests.

"You two both look like Hell," she continued as she half-heartedly cleaned the bar.

"Feel like it too," Jehan muttered, nursing his drink "had a bit of trouble while working,"

"And the others, they're-"

"They're fine" Grantaire interrupted. Éponine was just as close with Bahorel and Feuilly, if not closer, and though she'd never admit to it, the concern had been obvious on her face "They all decided to come after us,"

"Must be your pretty faces," she smirked before turning serious "Do you think they'll follow you here? You don't have any idea who they are, what they looked like?"

“No clue, I was a little busy trying not to get shot at, you know." Grantaire replied, perhaps a little too snappish, he didn't like people trying to kill him, it always ended with someone getting shot, and in his opinion the whole thing was more trouble than it was worth "But I'm almost certain that they'll follow us this far. We might have to hang around a while," there was no real question there, Éponine would have let them stay ten years if she thought they needed to.

"Well you're welcome to stay as long as you like, God knows I could use the company. But I ain't know how safe it'll be, people talk you know. You should try crossing the border, if they're the sheriff's men then there's no way they'd follow you into Mexico."

Grantaire considered it for a while, it would probably be safer, and all they needed to do was spend a little time in Mexico and cross back a while later, El Paso was busy and crowded, no one would notice two more people. "How long'd it take to get to the border?"

"If you really went for it, a couple of days." Éponine shrugged, "It depends. But I know a couple of people who live in Agua Caliente who'd help you out if you needed a place to stay before crossing."

Grantiare gave a non committal hum. He wasn't really in the practise of trusting people he didn't know, but he did trust Éponine. He took a large gulp of his drink as he thought.

Jehan sat up a little in his seat "They were all very good shots, scarily good."

Grantaire snorted his hand coming to rest on the butt of his gun, it was a strange looking contraption, the different parts seemed as though they didn't fit with each other. The reason being that Grantaire could never decide upon one type of gun that he liked; some makes made for a better aim, or range, other jammed less, there were simply too many options. Therefore Grantaire had eventually taken what he considered to be the best part of every gun he could find and put them together, at least the ones that were compatible with each other. So he'd ended up with a weapon that was somewhere between a rifle and a pistol; Grantaire preferred rifles, they had a much further range. This one had an elongated snout and handle, larger than that of a handgun, but it was small enough that he could carry it in his belt. "we could take all three of them in a fair fight, they're just too cowardly for that, instead they sneak up on us. Where's the honour in that?"

"You two ain't ones to talk," a little voice said to their right.

"Gavroche," Jehan exclaimed, his face lighting up "You've grown,"

"Sure have," the young boy shot them a toothy grin as Grantaire ruffled his messy blond hair. "Got any jobs you want doin' " Gavroche asked, almost buzzing with excitement.

They'd all been fond of the little boy, he'd always had a knack for getting into mischief. Usually when any of them stopped by they'd find some jobs for Gavroche and pay him a few coins for it. The boy was like a magpie, and had a tendency to horde his earning, Grantaire was certain that Gavroche now had more money than the rest of his family combined, though you would never know by his scruffy appearance.

"Actually we do have a job for you," Grantaire rummaged around inside his pocket, drawing out a shiny silver coin. He flipped it into the air before Gavroche's little hand snatched it and drew it into his chest as though it was the most precious thing in the world.

"We want you to keep an eye out for any strangers in town, particularly three of them together, one of them's blond like you," Grantiare could remember that distinctly, it was the only thing he'd noticed about them before having to run for his life.

"Well I may have something to tell you," Gavroche replied slyly, opening his other hand expectantly. Sighing Grantaire tossed another coin to him, He heard Éponine muffle a giggle.

"Three men just rode into town, stranger. I saw them and was coming to tell 'Ponine, when I saw you," As he spoke the wooden porch outside gave a loud creep.

Éponine didn't even have time to say anything, she simply grabbed Jehan by the scruff if his neck and dragged him around the bar, just as the tavern doors swung open. Without thinking Grantaire flung himself beneath the closest table, there were at least six very drunk men sat around it, drunk enough so that none of them either noticed or cared that someone was taking refuge under their table. He would feel undignified, but then again how much dignity did he have left to loose?

So he watched, his bottle still clasped in his hand as the three men approached. The wooden table partially blocked his view and the strangers had their backs to him. He noted that their clothes were well made and in good condition, probably not bounty hunters then, their guns were hanging at their belts, if he wanted to Grantaire could quite easily shot all three of them in the back, but he reused to do something so cowardly. If someone else thought that they were a good enough gunfighter to kill him then he welcomed them to try, and if they were successful then good on them.

The three had all taken their hats off, all Grantaire could see were the backs of their heads, one of them had smooth pale brown hair, the other two had messy curls, one jet black the other bright blond.

"We're looking for someone," one of them, possibly the brunette, said to Éponine, who was doing a marvellous impression of being interested in cleaning the bar.

"Aren't we all," she replied in a sing song voice, finally pausing in her work to look at them.

The blond one in the middle pulled something from his coat and laid in in front of Éponine "Have you seen this man at all?" The item in question was no doubt a wanted poster.

"Never seen nobody like that before, handsome though." Éponine replied without missing a beat. She was a brilliant liar, had it not been for the fact that Grantaire knew she was lying he would have been just as clueless as the three strangers. "You're not too bad looking yourself," she continued nodding in the direction of the man with the black hair.

Her jibes were met with stony silence. The dark haired man stepped away, his eyes wandering around the room finally coming to rest on a plain doorway that led to the rooms upstairs. He began towards in, Grantaire sucked in a breath; another step or so and Jehan would be in pain view of the man.

"Sorry, you ain't allowed back there unless your staying, house rules," how Éponine managed to sound nonchalant was beyond Grantaire.

"Do you have any empty rooms?" It was definitely the brunette who was talking this time, he didn't sound at all pleased.

"Sorry honey, all full up," it was a blatant lie, the tavern did have a lot of people in but it was obviously not filled to capacity. But what could the three of them do aside from glare irritably at the girl who was now grinning from ear to ear as she learned forward on the bar. "But I know that the lovely hotel just down the road would be happy to have you." It wasn't lovely. Grantaire knew from experience, Éponine continued even further, probably wanting to see if she could make one of them snap. "But I can offer you a drink on the house before you go," she said as she pulled out an open bottle of something, god knows what, probably deadly strong.

The three strangers just turned away without a word, all three now scowling. Éponine let out a little tutting noise and took a swig of the drink herself.

But Grantaire took no notice, because he could now see the blond man's face for the first time.

His features were almost perfect, god-like even. But his expression was cold and aristocratic, pride was etched across his entire face. The man's skin was pale and looked smooth enough to have been carved from marble, despite the harsh sun he'd had to have ridden through. His lips were a shade darker, even when they were twisted into a scowl they still seemed beautiful. Grantaire had taken his hair to be blond, but when the light hit his curls they looked like spun gold hanging in ringlets, framing his face. But his eyes were by far most striking, the shade of blue was unlike anything Grantaire had ever seen. All at once he felt an itch to draw him, paint him, anything, but he knew that if he tried for a hundred years he would still be incapable for creating just the right shade of blue, or capture the immense presence of this man on paper.

He wanted to talk to this man hear his voice and see his mouth form the words. But there he was, all righteous fury, hunting down criminals, and here Grantaire was crouched beneath a table like a whimpering child. He simply wasn't worthy.

All the while Grantaire was transfixed, the man were looking around at the faces of the men inside the tavern. By the time the one they were looking for had come to the conclusion that he would never be anywhere near equal to the blond God, said blond and his friends had left, clearly believing that the tavern was a waste of their time.

Grantaire was at last able to crawl out from under the table. His legs were cramping badly and his grip on the alcohol bottle was so tight that his fingertips felt numb, but they were nothing compared with the insistent ache now beginning in his chest. It really was a cruel trick of the universe making Grantaire, who had only really had any love for his friends, fall so quickly for a complete stranger. Not to mention that that person was also out to kill him, and was his complete opposite. But it made sense in some twisted way, people always want something that they don't have, no one loves light like a blind man.

Jehan was pulling himself up from behind the bar, looking non too pleased for having to hide there, Grantaire knew how he felt; his leg muscles were still burning. But before either of them could say a word, Éponine was pressing a large key into each of their hands.

"They're not the best rooms, but I'm sure you'll survive. I'll bet those guys will be back, or at least hanging around and watching out for you, so don't leave your room, if you want anything then tell me, or Gavroche and we'll get it for you."

"You're an angel, you know that Éponine," Jehan replied pressing a kiss to her cheek, bringing a small smile to her face, Jehan had that effect on people. Grantaire smiled a little himself, before rubbing his eyes, he hadn't felt this tired in a long time.

"Oh I know," Éponine replied giving the two of them a smirk and a wink. Grantaire narrowed his eyes remembering the last time he'd been here.

"Didn't you find yourself a man or something?" He enquired as nonchalantly as possible. Éponine could feign carelessness as well as anyone, but the slight stiffen of her shoulders was just about visible, and when she next spoke there was the unmistakable look of sadness in her eyes.

"Oh no, not any more he's gone chasing some little blonde thing from the North."

Grantaire let out a bark of laughter, as he pulled his hat back on "Blondes, who needs 'em," he said more to himself than to her as his eyes sound their way back to the saloon door.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Enjolras hated waiting.

It was no secret that he was an impatient person, Courfeyrac loved to use it to irritate him, but even he seemed to know better than to do that today. Four days had passed since the three of them had arrived in Deming. Grantaire was here, he knew he was, so was one of his companions, Jehan Prouvaire, was the face on one of the wanted poster that had looked most similar, but Enjolras wasn't completely sure. They were certain that the two of them were staying in the Thenardier tavern, after finding no answers from the barmaid, they'd gone around to the stables. At first glance none of them had recognised any of the animals, but Enjolras being the persistent person he was had insisted on checking each stall.

For once it had paid off, cramped at the back of the stables were a pair of well-bred horses, one black and white, the other liver chestnut, too valuable for the tattered reins and saddles they were wearing. It was certainly the two they were looking for, Enjolras assumed that they'd once belonged to someone else and had been stolen, but he was sure that they were the two that Grantaire and Jehan had been riding. He wouldn't put it past the outlaws to just take two other horses when they left, but they wouldn't have had the time to leave yet. So they must have been there, and since then at least one of them had been watching the tavern, there was no way they'd managed to get out yet.

At the moment it was Courfeyrac who was on lookout. Enjolras had been dubious at first about leaving him to do it on his own, thinking that he'd be distracted by some pretty girl and let them get away. But he did have to give his friend more credit, Courfeyrac was committed, just not as much as Enjolras was. But then again even Combeferre wasn't as committed as Enjolras was, not that that was a problem, Enjolras wouldn't trade his two friends for the world. In fact it was probably a good thing, when he was focussed Enjolras had a tendency to forget about his physical needs, it was nice to have his friends there to help him, remind him too eat or insist that he'd go and get a good night sleep.

Even so, Enjolras was being forced to wait around a lot and he hated being kept waiting. Surely the two men hiding in the tavern must know that they were going to be caught? Either they should turn themselves in, or make a run for it and get shot, it was this damned waiting around which was the most annoying. Enjolras often had the policy to take a criminal alive rather than dead, but he was starting to feel like he could make an exception with these two.

He'd tried to busy himself with unpacking (though it pained him to say it, the three of them had taken the girl who was working in the tavern's advice and stay in the minuscule hotel further down the street, though she'd been lying when she had said it was nice) but he didn't really have all that much to unpack.

His possessions basically consisted of his clothes, some food and water, and extra ammunition. However he didn't really want to unpack them in case they needed to leave quickly, so he just left them in his saddle bag.

That was where he also kept his money, along with a few maps and some wanted posters. He'd kept nothing from his previous life in the city. When he'd left, he hadn't parted on the best of terms with his parents, who hadn't been at all pleased that their only son was throwing away his future to runaway to the south. Enjolras would have been quite glad to never have to encounter them again, he'd always found them proud, unpleasant people. However his mother had somehow managed to get letters to him, he had to give her some credit for that, as he had no idea how it was even possible for her to contact him by letters or any other means. However they were becoming less and less frequent, but despite his promise to burn each letter they sent him, he'd kept every one. He never opened them, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction, but he kept them all the same. They just sat at the bottom of his saddle bag, yellowing pages that would remain unopened.

Enjolras forced his mind away from those thoughts. He was currently wondering around the small town aimlessly, Combeferre had become so sick of him pacing the length of their little room, that he'd all but thrown Enjolras into the dusty street.

Small carts, mules, and horses bustled down the roads, though Deming was fairly small, it was rather busy. No one paid him much attention, aside from several girls waiting outside a cat-house, all of whom had made some vulgar jokes regarding his looks. He just ignored them, he was in the habit of doing that to a lot of people.

Enjolras found himself coming towards the edge of town, the building were further apart here, the late afternoon sun was now visible between the wooden houses. The sheriff's office was situated right at the edge of the town, Enjolras decided that he may as well go and have a look, even though Combeferre had been in to talk to them a few days earlier.

As he climbed the two wooden steps to get onto the wide porch, he noticed a several posters pinned to the wall. All of them were wanted posters, a few of them had a red line painted across them, showing that the criminal it featured had been caught or killed. The poster that caught Enjolras' attention was the one right at the end, showing Grantaire. By now Enjolras felt as though he knew the man very well, though he'd never actually met him. The poster originally said the reward was five thousand dollars, but someone had drawn two more zeros on the end as a joke, claiming that the man was now worth five hundred thousand dollars.

"He added 'em zeros on himself," a rough voice said to his right. Enjolras turned his head to the source and noticed an old man sat further along the wooden decking, smoking a blackened pipe, while an ancient dog rested at his feet.

"Pardon," the younger man replied.

"Grantaire," the man punctuated his sentence with a cough "He come along, saw that an' got real offended, said 'a measly five thousand bucks for me? I'm worth a lot more than that' an' then he added em' zeros on the end." The old man let out a barking laugh, before replacing the pipe into the corner of his mouth "Nah, no one's got the guts to face that kid,"

Enjolras narrowed his eyes at that, if there was one thing Enjolras relished doing it was proving people wrong, he shifted his weight slightly in irritation, causing the wooded floorboards to moan. The old man raised his eyes to Enjolras once more, taking in his expression (which must have reflected some of his thoughts) and then to the gun slung casually on his hip "At least, it's been that way 'till now,"

Still scowling Enjolras turned away. The walk had done little to expel his restlessness, but he'd already been around the whole town. He supposed he could go back to the tavern and see if he could discover anything from anyone there, but he'd been back there almost everyday without any results. In addition, going in would mean having to put up with the young woman at the bar, whom he found infuriating, and had started called him 'Blondie' which he greatly resented. His only other option was to return to the hotel, and hope that something of interest would happen soon.

As he passed the tavern he caught sight of a small boy with messy straw-like hair watching him from where he sat just outside the building accompanied by a ragged looking tabby cat. Enjolras just scowled at him, he was doing a lot of that these days.

The wood beneath his boots made little squeaking noises as he climbed the old steps in the hotel, the man sat at the little desk giving him his usual glare.

Their room was starting to get dark as Enjolras entered, a solitary lantern sat at the little wooden table, illuminating Combeferre's face as he was pouring over a map.

Silently Enjolras slumped into an empty wooden chair.

"Anything?" Combeferre asked, not bothering to look up.

"Nope," Enjolras answered in a monotone "You?"

Combeferre just shook his head, before he stretched and yawned, before rubbing his eyes. He looked a tired as Enjolras felt.

"I thought we could do with some," Combeferre said as he pulled a bottle, which Enjolras hadn't noticed, from the other side of the table.

Usually Enjolras would refuse alcohol, he liked his mind to be constantly alert, and always thought that drinking was a waste of time. But on this occasion he couldn't bring himself to care, he took a long drink from the bottle, enjoying the slight burn of the alcohol as he swallowed before handing the bottle back to Combeferre.

"Be patient," Combeferre said softly before taking a drink himself. He'd know Enjolras the longest and could read him like a book.

The blond let out a huff, he was tired of being patient, he wanted to do something, he wanted to help people.

"I want to find Montparnasse," he confessed, aware of how childish he sounded.

"I know but we can't, not until we finish this job," Combeferre reasoned.

"But why? It doesn't make any sense to carry out some big companies whims just because they're paying people off."

"I know," Combeferre replied "But it's just the way things are."

Enjolras sat back in his seat, thinking. It was less practical to go after Grantaire before Montaparnasse. It was true that Grantaire was an outlaw, but he was wanted for taking money away from greedy companies. The few people he'd shot had been outlaws like himself, but everyone seemed to forget that. Probably because the newspapers, all of which were owned by rich old men, were being paid to put the stories about Grantaire on the front page and exaggerate. It was all corrupt, and in Enjolras' opinion Grantaire was just an insignificant, petty criminal.

Montparnasse, on the other hand, was wanted for countless crimes; murder, rape, bank robbery, horse theft, the list just went on an on. Nobody had ever tried to catch him, people were either too scared, or just didn't care enough to risk their own necks. Montparnasse was still young, he must only have been a few years older than Enjolras, yet he was by far the most feared man in the area, no one seemed to be able to control him.

The rest of his gang were just stupid brutes who killed for money, but their leader was something different. It wasn't the money or the girls that drove Montparnasse, it was the killing, he enjoyed it. Each story that Enjolras heard about him was more brutal than the last. Enjolras was sure that they couldn't all be true, but the man was so violent that it was difficult to say what was fiction and what was real.

Thundering footsteps brought Enjolras back to reality.

Combeferre let out a groan, slamming the bottle back down onto the table "If it's that bloody landlord again I swear to God I'll-" his threat was cut off by Courfeyrac bursting through the door.

He seemed out of breath, in an instant both Combeferre and Enjolras were fully focused, all their former tiredness seemed forgotten.

"They're moving," Courfeyrac stated still a little breathless from running up several flights of stairs.

Neither Enjolras or Combeferre needed any more elaboration, in less than a second the three of them had snatched up their own bag and were striding out of the cramped room without a seconds hesitation.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Gavroche rushed into the room, gasping for breath as though he'd sprinted a mile "You've got to go now, Azelma's causing a distraction, but Éponine says that you have to go now!"

Grantaire had been sticking his head out of the window, calculating how far he'd have to jump, and whether or not he was likely to break a limb. Jehan was just a little behind him, tapping his boot nervously against the floor.

"You're a lifesaver Gavroche," Grantaire murmured, tossing another coin in the boy's direction, not bothering to check it's value. The window wasn't large but it was relatively easy to fit through. It wasn't the lowest in the building, but it opened only a few metres above the roof of the stables. Grantaire half leapt, half fell down, landing ungracefully on the wooden roof. Several indignant snorts came from the inside of the stables, not wanting to waste any time Grantaire shuffled to the edge. He felt Jehan land somewhere behind him, before he swung himself off the stable roof, once again landing off balance, but thankfully in one piece. His friend landed beside him, it was so dark now that Grantaire could barely make out his silhouette until he wrenched the large wooden darks open and a dim reddish-orange light filled the courtyard.

The horses were murmuring again, tossing up their heads in discomfort.

Instead of going to the animal he'd arrived on, Grantaire grabbed the bridle of a large bay horse. It looked healthier than his last one, and it was always better to change horses when possible, it made you harder to follow.

"Get a different one than we came in on," Grantaire whispered across the room. He wasn't exactly sure why he was whispering, it wasn't as if anyone was going to hear them.

Jehan looked scandalised.

"Oh fine just keep the same one," Grantaire half snarled. When it came to horses Jehan had a sentimentality that Grantaire simply couldn't understand. A horse was a horse, just a stupid animal that was good at running fast, but not for Jehan, oh no. He'd had the same black and white mare for as long as Grantaire had known him, many times Grantaire had tried to persuade him to change animals. Keeping any horse for too long was a bad idea, especially if that horse was easily recognisable, as Jehan's certainly was. But Jehan would have none of it, he'd always give some answer about how a horse and rider needed to have trust in order to do well together and that he could never possibly get rid of his horse. On the one occasion that Bahorel had joked about shooting the damn thing Jehan's reply had been so threatening that none of them had dared to go near the beast for a week. So at this point Grantaire thought it was just best to let him be.

The stables doors banged open as the two of them took off at a hard gallop. Some man jumped out of the way as they turned a corner, they were going so fast that it took them mere seconds to leave the town behind. Grantaire had opted to head out of Deming in the opposite direction from the way they entered. Two old friends of Grantaire's, Joly and Bossuet, were living in Agua Caliente, according to Éponine. Grantaire would never have thought that the two of them would end up living in a tiny village so close to the border, but apparently they'd met some girl and the two of them had fallen head over heels for her.

Sounds like a familiar situation.

Grantaire huffed irritably, trust his brain to go and think something like that. It was undeniable that there was a slight difference between Joly and Bossuet finding the love of their lives, and Grantaire finding his peruser attractive. Which he obviously was, there was nothing wrong with appreciating the looks of an aesthetically pleasing person. So it didn't count.

Even in his own head it sounded like a pathetic excuse.

As they rode through the darkness the ground around them dipped down, small trees and bushes appeared, surrounding what Grantaire realised was a river. He could see it's ripples reflecting the moonlight as it flowed.

He knew that Agua Caliente was just on the other side, Grantaire pulled at the reins, guiding his animal to the edge, but it refused to go any further.

The horse let out an angry noise, tossing it's head and stamping it's front hooves. Grantaire silently cursed his choice of animal, and he urged it forward.

"Come on, you stupid creature," he hissed, kicking it onwards, forcing it to pass through the water.

Jehan and his mare slipped in behind him, splashing little droplets of water onto his back, in no time at all the two of them were being hauled back onto dry land again. Grantaire was just negotiating his way around a particularly stubborn outcrop of rock, with Jeahn following, when he heard the bang of a gunshot.

"Shit," Grantaire muttered, grabbing his reins and trying to control his now panicking horse. He was able to make out the lights of the town through the trees, he knew that the house they wanted was the first one, slightly outside of the cluster of buildings. He would probably already be able to tell which it was if it was daytime.

However it would be a miracle if they managed to reach it, even though the three men had caught up to them, they still couldn't seen either of them, so they were sending bullets in every direction hoping that one would find it's mark.

"Jehan, go!" Grantaire screeched. But it was too late, he watched, as though in slow motion his friend spin wildly around in his seat, not knowing what to do before one of the bullets hit him. His horse screeched in terror flinging it's rider from it's back. Grantaire leapt off his horse without thinking, he'd rather be shot as well than leave his best friend bleeding to death in the bushes. He struggled towards Jehan's body now sprawled across the sandy ground.

Grantaire pulled him around, the bullet had gone though his shoulder. It was bleeding badly but Grantaire knew that it wouldn't kill him quickly, he sent a silent thank you to the universe that Joly was a doctor. Jehan would be fine if he could just get him to Joly.

Both the horses had bolted, panicked by the shooting, Grantaire still couldn't see where the bullets were coming from, but at least that meant they couldn't see him either.

Grantaire wouldn't be able to get all the way to the town without being seen, so that only left one option, hiding. Gritting his teeth he grabbed hold of Jehan, pressing a hand over his mouth to muffle his moan of pain. Once beneath the semi-cover of an overgrown thicket Grantaire waited. He pressed his hand over the bloody wound, trying his best to stem the flow. Grantaire could feel the blood clotting in the torn fabric around it, staining the cloth red. The two of them stayed like that for a while, bullets still being sent in all directions, a spasm of pain went though Jehan's body, but there was nothing Grantaire could do for his friend.

Some distant part of his brain registered that if Jehan did survive he'd probably be most anger at Grantaire loosing his precious horse, but Grantaire simply didn't have the time to do anything about it. All at once the shooting stopped, an eerie silence befell the area. Nothing happened, nothing moved, even the crickets seemed to have fled.

Grantaire made himself count to a hundred before daring to move. He still wasn't sure whether it was safe yet, but at this point he didn't care, Jehan needed help, and that was all that mattered.

Trying to be as delicate with his injured friend as possible Grantaire pulled him onto his back. Jehan let out a small noise but it was so weak that it was almost lost in the wind. Every breath he took went through the dark haired man, he was constantly praying that Jehan would keep breathing. Slowly Grantaire began to move, forcing himself to go forward.

It was gruelling work, each step seemed impossible, he was so tired. But he made himself move on, he could see lights in the distance, teasing him. A thick bead of sweat ran down his back, Grantaire could feel his own shoulder slowly growing slick with blood. Once he felt as though he was about to drop his friend, instead he hoisted him higher on his back. Soaking the palm of his hand in warm, thick liquid, he could feel it trickle between his fingers as he struggled on.

The lights were closer now. Blurring in Grantaire's eyes due to exhaustion, but it didn't matter he was almost there, and he hadn't been shot at. By now they were just a few feet away, Grantaire reached out his hands, his fingernails just scrapping the wood. He could barely stand steady, even though Jehan was lithe, after having to pull him all the way into town he felt like a dead weight.

Without wasting a second he began hammering on the door, even in the darkness he could make out the bloody hand print he'd left on the wood.

The door opened and Grantaire found himself face to face with a woman he didn't know.

She was about a foot shorter than he was. She had dark skin, and jet black hair that fell to her shoulder in ringlets. The girl was very pretty, Grantaire was sure that she was the 'Musichetta' that Éponine had mentioned, who was now living with two of his closest friends. He felt as though he should introduce himself or something, but right now wasn't really the right time.

"Where's Joly? We need Joly!" Grantaire sounded half man to his own ears, so he could barely imagine how he seemed to this poor women who'd just opened her door to two filthy man, both covered in blood.

But before she could utter a sound, Joly's face appeared over her shoulder. His eyes travelled over the pair of them, Jehan now almost unconscious, before he turned his head back and shouted as calmly as he could manage "Bossuet, we need help, now."

 

~ ~ ~

 

Grantaire slumped low in the saddle of yet another horse, as he trudged through the wilderness. The air was stifling, a horrific dry heat that made his mouth feel sticky and demanded attention almost constantly, but he was smart enough not to waste precious water on it.

Musichetta rode a little in front of him, Grantaire hadn't been sure about her at first, but now felt as though he'd be willing to trust her just as much as Joly and Bossuet.

The night before last had been a frantic one. Joly barking orders at everyone in a frenzy that Grantaire had only every witnessed when he'd been treating a patient. Wads of blood-stained bandages had littered the table along with God only knows what else. But all of that was insignificant because just as the sky was beginning to lighten the doctor had laid down his tools announcing that Jehan would live. He'd take some time to heal properly, and would definitely need to rest for a while, but he would make a full recovery. In that instant Grantaire could breath again, the idea that he might have to go on without his lifelong friend had terrified him beyond belief. He'd always simply assumed that he'd die before any of his friends would. At least he now wouldn't have had the horror of having to tell their other friends what had become of Jehan. He could see Bahorel and Feuilly now, their faces, it was enough to make him feel sick.

Something of his feelings must have shown on his face, because Bossuet had wordlessly wrapped an arm around Grantaire's waist, before Musichetta joined them. Grantaire had been surprised when she had turned to him, after prising Bossuet away, and demanded that he go and get some sleep, but had been even more surprised when he found himself following her instructions. The girl had had an air about her that made you want to listen to her, whatever she said seemed to make sense, and even when she remained silent her presence was comforting. When Grantaire had been forced to do nothing but wait and watch while Bossuet assisted Joly in healing Jehan, she'd stayed with him, not saying a word, but hovering at his side nonetheless.

So here they were, the two of them riding together, now less than an hour from the Mexican border. Whenever something went wrong Grantaire, Jehan, Bahorel, and Feuilly would agree to meet back up at a safe location; it was usually less conspicuous to travel alone, or in pairs, rather than together. They would always reunite at Las Cruces, or at least stay near by, so that they were able to keep a look out for any of the others. Las Cruces was one of the larger towns in southern New Mexico, not as big as El Paso, but easily big enough for them to go unnoticed. That was their intended destination, but it was difficult with half the country looking for them, not to mention the three men who'd chased them all the way from the train they'd been robbing, Jehan being injured only made things worse. However Grantaire hadn't seen any trace of the three men, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. On the one hand, the further away from them he was the better, but at the same time he seriously doubted that they'd given up that easily, and he'd much prefer to have to deal with them sooner rather than later.

Either way, they'd needed a way to get to Las Cruces, the small cart Joly and Bossuet owned was large enough to conceal one person, but no more than that. Grantaire wouldn't risk going with them if he wasn't able to hide, he wouldn't have bet against someone recognising his face and reporting it to the police.

Obviously Jehan had to be the one to ride in the cart, meaning that Grantaire would have to travel separately. If it was the police following them then crossing the border into Mexico seemed like the obvious solution. However he still didn’t really want to risk passing through many towns, meaning he'd try and travel mostly on isolated roads reducing the number of people who might recognise him. Using a route riddled with some many detours, he'd still arrive after Jehan anyway, so it only made sense that Grantaire should leave before him, so as to cut down the amount of time he kept Jehan waiting. There'd been some debate over who'd accompany Grantaire at the start of his ride; Joly hadn't been completely comfortable leaving Jehan, just in case he needed him at all, Bossuet would have been happy to help, but wasn't completely confident of where he was going, leaving Musichetta. All three men had been a little dubious at first, but she had been quite insistent, it was true that she knew the area better than either of them, and it actually made more sense because no one would expect Grantaire to travel with a woman.

“We're nearly there,” Musichetta's horse halted with a snort, Grantaire quickly doing the same, only just avoiding his own horse crashing into the back of hers.

“This is as far as I'm going,” The woman stirred her horse around, halting so she ended up just beside him. “I packed you some food, and water. I thought you would need it,” She smiled as she passed them to him, and Grantaire suddenly felt more ashamed than ever before.

What must she think of him? This hard-working woman, whose lovers would mention him occasional, but mostly she would her about him from the newspapers, or in local gossip, all telling of the monstrosities he'd done. Yet here she was helping him anyway, seemingly reserving all judgement as she gave him one last smile and nudged her horse into a walk. He just felt so ashamed.

“Musichetta, wait,” He called after her, twisting around in his seat as she turned “Don't you think... that I-” He was struggling to find the correct words “Don't you think that I'm a monster, or evil, or something?”

The woman just looked impassive “Why would I think that?” She sounded honest, and Grantaire simply didn't know what to do with that.

He waited, briefly, the other horses footsteps receding into the wilderness. With an almost incredulous expression Grantaire started to move on, towards the border, all the while trying to push the thoughts of Musichetta out of his mind. He didn't understand why she would care about him at all, Grantaire would hate himself, in fact he did hate himself. Trying to fathom her reasons just made him feel worse, and he certainly wasn't above running away from his problems, so he just continued forwards trying to think of something else.

 

~ ~ ~

 

“We've been a this for hours,”

“I know.

“We're wasting time.”

“Well, what exactly am I supposed to do about it?”

“I don't know.”

“Neither do I.”

“We need to do something.”

“Well if you have a suggestion then I'm all ears.”

Courfeyrac flicked a fly that had taken refuge on his horses mane, when Enjolras and Combeferre argued, things were really bad.

Enjolras being as single minded as he was, only had one goal: find Grantiare. The fact that he couldn't was making him steadily angrier with each passing hour, in his mind the entire world was against him. Which obviously included both himself and Combeferre.

Then Combeferre would become more and more snappish at Enjolras' childish behaviour, and then after some time all hell would break loose. It didn't happen often, but when it did things most certainly got ugly. If Enjoras could be called an unstoppable force, then Combeferre was certainly an immoveable object, most of the time it didn't matter. In fact it meant that they worked in perfect synchronisation, but on the rare occasion that they did clash, well... Courfeyrac didn't much like to think about that.

The two continued to bicker, Courfeyrac would have let out a sigh if he hadn't been slightly afraid of the two of them remembering that he was in fact still there. Occasionally Courfeyrac would feel a bit out of place alongside them, the other two were so alike, were able to communicate and understand each other so easily, it was difficult not to feel a bit useless. He did know that these doubts were unfounded. He was just as close to Enjolras and Combeferre as they were with each other. They needed him just as much as he needed them; alone none of them would be able to work properly.

People who are polar opposites clash. People who are too similar clash. But when people have the right balance of common interests and differences it makes them stronger. Courfeyrac could barely remember the last time he'd argued with Combeferre, and, okay, perhaps he and Enjolras would have small squabbles, but it was nothing compared to when Enjolras and Combeferre disagreed. Like right now for instance.

Courfeyrac couldn't suppress a small groan, luckily the other two were too busy snapping rapid fire retorts at one another. It was true that the three of the had being going two days now with no results. They'd been circling around the same area trying to find some tiny trace of the two men they were following, but all in vain. At this point Combeferre thought they should look somewhere else, believing that they'd moved on by now, Enjolras on the other hand, never gave up at something and thought they should keep looking until they found something, insisting that they had just missed it.

Courfeyrac thought that they were both idiots.

When it came to hunting criminals they were both incredibly dense, what did they know about how criminals lived their lives? Not that he was an expert on the subject, but he did know about people. How they thought, how their minds worked, what they wanted. Unlike the other two who only did what _they_ thought, using _their_ logic. Courfeyrac had always thought that trying to think like the enemy was an obvious advantage, but apparently not.

Anyway, it was obvious why Jehan and Grantaire had gone West; it had been the easiest place for them to go. But now it was as though the pair of them had dropped off the face of the earth. They hadn't been shot that night when he, Combeferre, and Enjolras had caught up with them, but at least one of them was injured the blood they'd found told them that much, so it wasn't as though they could have gone far.

Courfeyrac mused it all over in his head, the noise of the other two snapping at each other fading from background noise into silence; when he wanted to focus Courfeyrac could close his mind off from any distraction. Once you knew a bounty hunter was after you you had two choices, either you got away as far and fast as you could or you just got it over with and faced them. Grantaire and Jehan hadn't stopped moving yet, which didn't really seem right, Courfeyrac hadn't really had them down as the running-away-type. But their riding hadn't seemed all that urgent either, okay it had been when they were being shot at, but if they'd really wanted to get away, why not just ride out into the desert? It might be inconvenient but it was the best chance of getting rid of a bounty hunter.

The fact that they hadn't was strange, unless they didn't think that the three off them were bounty hunters. Most hunters travelled alone, occasionally they'd work in pairs, travelling as a three was practically unheard of. Most men were too greedy, and ended up killing each other in that situation, not to mention that Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac were far better organised than most; always keeping in formation, having a proper plan and such. So maybe they had mistaken them as something else, sheriff's men perhaps?

Judging by the way they carried themselves it might have seemed like the most plausible option, in which was the answer was perfectly simple, they'd try and cross the border.

Courfeyrac smiled to himself, his revelation was over in less than a second, Enjolras and Combeferre were still hissing at each other, both refusing to back down. Courfeyrac took more pleasure than he should from turning his horse completely around and heading in the opposite direction, particularly the effect it had on the others. Both fell silent instantly, looking incredulously after their friend who had seemingly just wondered off in the wrong direction.

“Where are you going?” Combeferre sounded somewhere between angry and confused.

His friend turned around feigning innocent “Oh you, know just going to find the guys we were looking for, maybe, oh I don't know, over the border?” Grinning to himself Courfeyrac turned his horse back around, not bothering to see their reactions, neither responded, probably too annoyed with themselves for not realising it sooner. Instead they just followed Courfeyrac south. Only when they'd finally crossed the border and discovered the trail again did Enjolras finally admit that he was wrong, not that Courfeyrac had been waiting for that.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The second Grantaire woke he knew something was wrong. It was just a feeling, but after spending his whole life as a drifter, he had learned to trust his instincts. He lay perfectly still, not at all rigid, simply relaxed, as if he was still in a drunken slumber, and listened.

It was easy to distinguish someone else's breathing, even with the slight hangover, or to be more precise several people breathing. Grantaire wasn't fond of killing people for no reason, but any group of people who decided to stand around an outlaw's camp for god knows how long, we're probably trouble. So it seemed like the only option, even though it was really too early for this. But it had to be done; due to his less than conventional lifestyle Grantaire has gotten into the habit of taking precautions. When sleeping on the run he had to use his saddle as his pillow, but each night he would carefully conceals his rifle beneath it, and then force himself to fall asleep with his arm casually slung over the saddle just an inch from the gun. He reached for it, slowly enough for him to still appear asleep. His fingertips slid silently through the dirt, but there was no hint of the rifle he knew he'd placed there.

“Looking for this?” At that Grantaire opened his eyes, vaguely recognising the voice. It was impossible, and yet here they were all three of them, his own gun held by the dark haired man. Grantaire had been sure that they wouldn't follow him over the border, then again he supposed that he'd never known for certain that they'd worked for the sheriff, it had only been his assumption. Turns out they were bounty hunters after all, meaning that Grantaire had seriously underestimated them; they looked like the worst team of hunters that he'd ever seen, but there they were all the same.

“Dead or alive, it's your choice.” And Grantaire couldn't help but let his eyes be drawn the blond man who had spoken, when he'd seen him in the half light of the Thenardier tavern he had been beautiful, but that was nothing to how he appeared now, with the sun illuminating his marble face, enhancing each feature. The gun still trained on his head promptly reminded Grantaire that they were waiting for an answer.

He actually considerd it for a moment, it's wasn't that he really wanted to die, but he didn't really want to keep living either. On the other hand he wouldn't be opposed to spending more time with them, he couldn't help being curious.

He gave a slight shrug as the blond motioned to the pistol on his belt and told 'Courfeyrac' to get it. As though he would try that; all three of them were still armed and ready, they had his rifle, he didn't even use his pistol “Not loaded,” He pointed out unable to keep quiet. He hadn't really expected any of them to believe him, but he did feel a little smug when Courfeyrac checked the gun only to find it empty.

The blond man motioned for him to get up, and led him over to his horse. Grantaire stood for a second, his eyebrows raised at the boy, as he really couldn't be called a man, in front of him. Before hoisting himself onto his horse, if only to humour the other.

“What's your name?” Grantaire asked. Another smile wormed it's way onto his lips as he saw the blond's internal struggle of wanting to be polite versus wanting to ignore him. “Enjolras,” He finally replied as he bound Grantaire's hands in front of him, so at least he'd still be able to ride. Grantaire couldn't suppress a small sigh, this was going to be a long ride, and he was still feeling a little ill after his drinking session of the previous night.

“If you try and run, I'll shoot you in the back,” his voice was cold and fierce Grantaire couldn't hold back a small snort as he saw the perfectly polished gun still aimed at his head; he could quite easily imagine the boy, disassembling and cleaning it every night. Grantaire decided in that second that there was no way he was going to submit and make this easy for him, though for no other reason than amusement.

“The old Mexican Proverb. You don't know it?” The dark haired man grinned slightly, the top of his lip just curling upwards in a small smirk. Enjolras knew that he shouldn't be letting this half witted criminal irritate him, but he simply couldn't help it, he wanted to somehow force this individual into seeing just how wrong he was. However you didn't have to be smart to see that that would be impossible. Grantaire simply grinned at Enjolras' irritable expression still waiting for an answer.

“'When a man with a .45 meets a man with a rifle, the man with a pistol is a dead man'. It's true, you know.” He finished letting his eyes once again fall to the small gun resting on the other man's hip. His eyes shone with some kind of amusement, like some inside joke that was to him becoming funnier by the second. Enjolras didn't like to be left clueless, regardless of how petty the subject was.

“Well I suppose we'll test that theory won't we?” Enjolras retorted, motioning towards Grantaire's bound hands, reminding him that he was about to be taken to his death.

“I suppose we shall.”

 

~ ~ ~

 

They'd only been travelling about a day when Enjolras and Grantaire were left alone together. Combeferre and Courfeyrac moved on ahead to try and find somewhere more comfortable to sleep that night, preferably with a bed. They'd all been sleeping rough for far too long, Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac were used to better, and Grantaire certainly wasn't complaining.

So they'd come to the decision of who should stay and who should go. It was unwise to travel around by yourself, no matter how good a gunfighter you were, it was just asking for trouble. Without even having to discuss it, Enjolras' companion's knew that he would feel far more comfortable if he was the one to stay with Grantaire. Even though he was closer to his friends than with anyone else on the planet, there was still a tiny part of him that still had trouble allowing anyone else doing something for him, at least this way if he made a mistake it would be his fault rather than anyone else’s.

The vast landscape was empty now, save the two of them, Combeferre and Courfeyrac having just disappeared among the dusty hills. Enjolras wasn't fond of riding in open landscape, there was a certain sense of freedom about it that was appealing, but it was overwhelmed by the wildness of the land. It unnerved him, he disliked not being completely in control. In a bustling town or city there were clear rules, and even when he chose to break, or rebel against them, the consequences were always clear. It was different here, and Enjolras disliked it.

Grantaire, on the other hand, seemed completely at ease to Enjolras. He supposed that Grantaire didn't have all that much reason to be uptight; he was already wanted, if he was caught then he'd be hung, there wasn't that much more damage he could do to himself. He didn't even seem that bothered about remaining alive either, something else that confused Enjolras. Life was fast, and changing, anything could happen, what was the point of giving up on something, when it could be achieved. Of course some things were difficult to accomplish, but giving up didn't do anyone any good.

His short attention span soon got the better of him, on long rides he'd usually have his friends to talk to; Combeferre would always have something interesting to say, and Courferyac seemed to have endless stories on every subject imaginable. But right now there was only Grantaire. Enjolras didn't really want to talk to him, rather understand him.

“You seem very relaxed.” He commented haughtily, after several minutes deliberation of what to say. Grantaire shifted in his saddle, lifting his head up, and rolling his shoulders. After such a long time riding, his arms must have been sore from being held behind his back.

“What?” He replied blearily.

Enjolras had to fight hard against the urge to correct him that he should say 'pardon' instead of 'what'. “I said that you seem rather relaxed considering your predicament.”

He shrugged as much as it was possible to do so with his hands bound "Everybody dies one day, does it really matter if it's today or in fifty years?"

Enjolras gave a little scoff “You don't actually believe that do you? Of course it makes a difference, every day that you live is a new experience, everyone is able to change and improve their situation if they try hard enough.” he finished while casting a scathing eye at his companion.

“I really couldn't care less, none of these wonderful 'new experiences' interest me.”

“It isn't all about you,” Enjolras snapped back “You do realise that every day that you spend carrying on the way you're living is a waste. You could be doing something useful, and making a difference. You could actually help people.”

It was Grantaire's turn to scoff “Oh, and I suppose you've make some lasting impression on the world that'll be benefiting people for centuries to come, have you?”

“I will do,” Enjolras replied so confidently that Grantaire would have found it inspiring, if he didn't find it so sad.

“Of course you will. Do tell me, since you seem so sure, what it is that you're going to do to change the world?”

Enjolras was practically pouting as he replied “I caught you, and I'm going to get Montparnasse, and his gang, and anyone else who wants to harm the innocent.”

“Catching criminals, that's your big plan?” Grantaire let out a snort of laughter “There's always going to be outlaws, yeah, you'll catch a few, but in a hundred years who's going to care?” He grinned as Enjolras ignored him, though his face was angry enough to show that Grantaire was getting under his skin.

Enjoying irritating the other far too much, Grantaire swung his leg over the saddle and slid off his horse in one fluid movement. The momentary look of shock on Enjolras' face was well worth the screech of protest from his aching arms and legs.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras demanded, yanking both horses to a standstill.

“My legs were hurting,” He replied innocently “I thought I'd go for a bit of a walk around,”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras was struggling to keep his voice even “Get back on the horse now.” It was clearly a command.

And Grantaire was clearly not going to follow it. He tipped his head back a little, grinning.

“No, I think I fancy stretching my legs a little,”

“Grantaire, I'm warning you, get back on the horse now.”

“Or what?”

“Or I'll shoot you,”

“Go on then,”

“I will,” Enjolras sounded petulant to his own ears, but he refused to back down from a challenge merely on principle.

Huffing Enjolras dropped his reins, pulling his pistol out, before steadily aiming at Grantaire's head. Grantaire just smirked, it was as though he knew that Enjolras wouldn't shoot him, no matter how much he pushed him.

Enjolras gritted his teeth, jerking his hand away, firing somewhere off to the right. The bang echoing around the hills, The horses reared up, snorting, and screeching in distress.

Enjolras was flung forward in his saddle as Grantaire's horse bolted, it's ears flattened to it's head in alarm, as it kicked up dust.

“Now that was a bit rash, wasn't it?” Grantaire commented lazily, seemingly not bothered by his sudden loss of transport.

"That was your fault," he snapped back, furious at himself for being so stupid. He'd been left alone with Grantaire for less than an hour and already he'd made a fool of himself. "Get on" Enjolras continued stiffly, trying his best to reassert his authority.

"Pardon?" Grantaire replied innocently. Not bothering to reply, Enjolras slid off his horse, and grabbing Grantaire's shoulder he all but dragged Grantaire onto the back of his horse with him. The animal gave a small snort of irritation at the sudden increase in weight. Usually Enjolras would have given it time to adjust, but at this point he was too annoyed, and didn't trust himself to act rationally, so he just gave a gentle nudge and the horse continued at a walk.

"Cosy," Grantaire commented from behind him. The size of the saddle didn't give much allowance for space. Enjolras remained sat at the front of the saddle with Grantaire pressed up against his back. Though he couldn't see his face, Enjolras could hear the grin, and resolved to ignore him for the rest of the journey.

Grantaire seemed to have other ideas. They'd not even been riding for ten minutes when he started to shift in his seat, probably still uncomfortable. What little sympathy Enjolras had had for him previously dissipated. The annoying thing was that he continued to move around, like a child fidgeting, Enjolras' back stiffened, as he tried to keep his temper under control. It had only been a slight adjustment, but the other picked up on it.

"Something wrong?" Enjolras jumped at the voice, spoken almost directly into his ear.

"No," he replied tersely, deciding that as soon as Combeferre and Courfeyrac came back he was going to swap with one of them.

Grantaire sat as far back as his seat would allow. He was bored, and uncomfortable, and slightly hungover. None of the three bounty hunters had any alcohol, which was just stupid, who did that? They were out in the middle of nowhere for God's sake, a bottle of whiskey could be the difference between life and death. Or at least it was for normal people, apparently not for saintly bounty hunters.

An idea formed in his mind at that thought, still smiling to himself Grantaire leaned forward, enjoying again how the other man jumped and said clearly "Are you a virgin?"

The reaction as truly priceless. His irritation being wiped away and replaced by complete shock.

"Really? Never?” Grantaire's grin only widened as he saw embarrassment flicker across Enjolras' face for half a second, and then he couldn't stop himself from seeing just how far he could push his look “Now that's just a waste, No really I mean it. There must be thousands of girls who'd give anything to be with a pretty face like you, and God knows how many boys,”

The blond averted his eyes, and Grantaire couldn't help himself but to learn forward, pressing into Enjolras' personal space. His lips almost brushing his ear “I could show you if you like, you might even like it.” Enjolras jerked his head away, finally replying.

“Just shut up and keep still.” He hissed, his hand coming to rest on his gun threateningly. But the effect was somewhat ruined by the blush still creeping up his neck. Grantaire just smirked and sat back a little in his seat.

The silence dragged on and, though he wanted to break it, Grantaire forced himself to remain quiet; he could feel the embarrassment coming off the younger man in waves, and he relished it. The idea that he was able to affect such fine marble. It was an illusion of course, Grantaire was aware of that even if he didn't admit it to himself.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?" He asked lazily, no longer able to keep quiet.

"Not uncomfortable," The blond shot back.

"Oh, so you do like me," Grantaire teased.

"You disgust me." Enjolras said without hesitation, making Grantaire's smile falter slightly.

He'd spoken so quickly. Probably without thinking, it was such an obvious observation, a fact. Not that Grantaire expected any more; why should anyone such as Enjolras find a person like him anything less than disgusting? It still effected him though, after all the man was going to kill him, the least he could do was be civil, but in Enjolras' defence he really wasn't worth the trouble.

"We can probably move a little quicker for the rest of the way," Enjolras said suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen over the pair of them, apparently he'd also been deep in his own thoughts. "Try and stay on,"

Grantaire pressed himself forward a little trying to balance himself as Enjolras urged his horse on faster.

"So you really do like me," Grantaire muttered to himself, feeling a prick of sadness in his chest.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Courfeyrac had nearly hurt himself laughing when he and Combferre had reunited with the other two on the road. The look of annoyance on Enjolras' face compared to Grantaire's amusement, paired with the sight of them both cramped onto one horse had nearly tipped him over the edge, even Combeferre chuckled slightly. Though he was wise enough to stop before they reached Enjolras, who looked ready for a murder spree.

Without even having to be asked Courfeyrac leapt of his horse and swapped with Enjolras, he and his friends were so in sync that it sometimes scared himself. As soon as he could, Enjolras had set off at a trot evidently wanting to be as far away as possible from Grantarie. Courfeyrac wasn't completely sure why, as they slowly followed at a walk, they talked a little. He didn't seem too bad a person, not like most of the people who were shouting and cursing at this point, but Courferyac often felt that that was warranted as they were on their way to the gallows. But Grantaire seemed almost cheerful, Courfeyrac wasn't sure what the reason was, but it certainly made a nice change, and by the time they reached El Paso wheee Combeferre and Enjolras were waiting for them he was in a fairly good mood.

He was however, very tired, and having a drink seemed like a very good idea.

"Well," Courfeyrac sighed, helping Grantaire down from the horse "I don't know about you lot, but I plan on having a drink.

"Finally," Grantaire groaned "would you please get some for me, dying wish and all,"

Before Courfeyrac could reply Enjolras snapped "You really think that I'm going to waste money getting you alcohol?" Apparently he still hadn't forgiven Grantaire for loosing his horse.

"Worth a shot," he shrugged in response.

Courfeyrac chuckled, noticing that several people were giving them funny looks, he just ignored them.

"Now, now, play nicely," he said motioning towards Grantaire before setting off to find somewhere to drink.

While walking around Courfeyrac found he quite liked El Paso, it was big, but not ridiculously so. People constantly moving around and going about their own business, but not like in the big cities he'd grown up in, where everything was cramped, and everyone was in a rush. After walking around for a while he eventually found a place to his satisfaction. The bar was decent, nothing special, but Courfeyrac had been in much worse and at this point he just really needed a drink. The barman wasn't overly friendly, but that never phased him.

His drink had just arrived as he was finally able to sit back in his seat and let out a long sigh. It had been a hard day of riding, and compared to that this was absolute bliss. He was just debating how many drinks he could have before Enjolras gave him a condescending look, when he heard a familiar voice calling his name.

Turning around, Courfeyrac's eyes fell upon the last person he'd expect to see there. The man was tall and gangly, his legs a little too long for his body, making him look somewhat like a young foal that hadn't properly learned to walk yet. His dark copper hair fell onto his round face which was covered in freckles. Marius had been his best friend growing up, he had a rather different temperament to Enjolras and Combeferre, but Courfeyrac loved him just as much. He was the sort of person who went through life trying to do the right thing, which Courferyac had always deeply admired as a personality trait, even if Marius was the most naive person he'd ever met (and that was including Enjolras, who was some pretty stiff competition when it came to being dense).

"Marius!" Courfeyrac leapt off his chair, and grabbed his friend before pulling him into a hug and only narrowly avoiding spilling his drink on Marius "I didn't think I'd see you in a place like this,"

"Well, yes, I know," he said with a goofy grin "it took me quite a while to get here from home."

"To be honest I was more meaning in a bar, but anyway, it's good to see you. What are you doing here?"

"Well, I was sort of looking for you really," Courfeyrac took another drink as his friend began. He would have offered to buy Marius one, if he hadn't known that Marius didn't drink. "You see there's this slight problem,"

"Hm?" Courferyac motioned for him to continue.

"You see there's this gang, the Patron Minette, I assume you've heard of them? They're not the problem, well they sort of are the problem, but that's not it. You see there's this police inspector, and since he's arrived things just haven't been the same and the mayor seems worried, and I remembered that you're a bounty hunter, and that you and your friends were looking for Montparnasse, so I thought you might be able to help."

"I'm really sorry, but we can't at the moment," Courfeyrac, genuinely sorry at not being able to help his friend.

Marius didn't even seem all that put out just mildly confused. He cocked his head to the side, looking remarkably like a confused puppy "Are you not hunting him any more?"

"Well, we were, but then the banks were being rubbish and now we've got Grantaire, and it's a long story," Courfeyrac said animatedly.

"You mean like Grantaire? Actually Grantaire?"

"Yep,"

"That's amazing," Marius said, with an admiration that he reserved only for his best friends "What's he like? Is he just like the stories?"

"Not really," Courfeyrac replied, rubbing the small layer of stubble on his chin "He's alright really, quite a nice guy. Well, other than the killing and robbing people and stuff. But anyway let's talk about you, I heard you married that girl of yours."

Marius blushed as he mumbled a "yes,"

"Well I'll be damned, Pontmercy got married before me, now I'm really depressed," He grinned, as he took another swig from his bottle. Now he had good company as well, Courfeyrac decided he would not be returning to the hotel any time soon.

 

~ ~ ~

 

The room over the top of the tavern, though large, was basic. The few gas lamps still burning cast just enough light to see fairly well, but the shadows in the corners of the room hid most of the walls and furnishings. Combeferre was lying on one of the beds, so tired from his day riding that he looked dead to the world.

Grantaire was slumped on a chair, Enjolras sat on the other side of the at the tiny cramped desk, where he had been working. It had only been half an hour and the two were already hissing at each other from across the room.

"Of course I'll be able to change things,"

"Really, because you don't seem to have been all that successful so far."

"Making a difference takes time."

"Time that most people don't have,"

"So you're really stupid enough to think that nothing is going to get better?

"Yep." Grantaire said simply.

“Did you even believe in anything?” Enjolras asked, unable to keep the disdain from his voice or his lips curling in disgust at the blatant cynicism.

“Not any more,” he replied in a monotone, his boots still resting on the table, as his fidgeted with his pocket watch, flicking the lip open and then closed again.

Enjolras wanted to end the conversation, truly he did, but he'd never met anyone like this before, no human being he'd come across had such little faith in humanity “Did you ever?” The blond asked unable to hold his tongue at the thought of Grantaire ever having any faith in anything.

"Oh yes,” the other man replied suddenly very preoccupied with his watch rather than looking at Enjolras “I used to be just like you, full of ideals and recklessness. But then something happened, made life very precious to me.” He stilled momentarily as he finished the sentence, distracted.

"What?” Enjolras blurted out without thinking. Grantaire snapped his head up meeting Enjolras eyes, properly glaring at him for the first time.

Enjolras didn't appreciate the scrutiny, he felt very small under Grantaire's gaze, like a small child who'd done something wrong. He shifted, feeling more uncomfortable by the second, and fought to continue meeting the others eye, keeping a level expression “Was the question insensitive?”

“No, but the answer might be.” Grantaire replied finally turning away. His tone made no allowance for continuing the conversation, and so Enjolras allowed the two of them to drop into silence.

Quickly continuing to plan his hunt for Montparnasse, which he'd finally be able to commence with once he'd finished this job.

_When Grantaire is dead_ , his brain supplied. Enjolras let his hand go still for a second, not entirely sure what emotions that fact was inducing in him. Before now he'd just seen Grantaire as a means to an end, only a job. Having had to spend more time with him than he had for any other criminal, it had impressed upon him that Grantaire was a real person. A cynical, self-centred person, but a human being none the less, he'd have memories, and fears, just the same as Enjolras, his life ought to be worth the same. But that wasn't the way things were, Enjolras told himself as he began writing once more.

He barely finished his sentence before there was a chuckle from behind him "So it looks like Enjy's got some Daddy issues,"

Enjolras couldn't stop himself from whipping around in his seat. Grantaire had somehow managed to move silently across the room, now sitting on Enjolras' bed, one of his parents letters open in his hand. Without missing a beat the older man began to read.

_"To my son, your mother and I briefly discussed and came to a conclusion regarding the topic of-"_

Enjolras was on his feet in an instant, towering above Grantaire's hunched form, ripping the letter form his hands. "That's private," he snarled.

For half a second Grantaire looked intimidated, before returning to his usual smirk."There were a lot of them," he said with a shrug.

"So?" Enjolras snapped.

"So they weren't opened, you obviously don't care _that_ much."

"I don't care at all,"

"Then why bother keeping them?" Raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

Enjolras gritted his teeth, trying to find the correct phrase to try to explain himself, not that he really expected Grantaire to understand. "Because I can't throw a letter from my family away even if I want to."

"So," Grantaire leaned back on Enjolras' bed, his back leaning on the wall. "You don't like your family then?"

"No!" He replied bitterly.

Grantaire gave him a strange look for a second, as though he wanted to say something. But he just shook his head, sprawling onto the bed and turning to face the wall, leaving Enjolras standing in the centre of the room, feeling a little foolish.

 

~ ~ ~

 

It didn't take the three of them long to reach Las Cruces from El Paso. Despite their predicament, the journey wasn't half as unpleasant as any of them would have expected it to be. Courfeyrac even seemed to be getting on fairly well with Grantaire. Enjolras, on the other hand, had made a point of not making conversation with Grantarie other than when absolutely necessary, meaning they hadn't really spoken at all. Aside from when they had bought a fourth horse for Grantaire to ride, and he'd made a comment about Enjolras being a 'rich little boy'. Enjolras had snapped back that they only needed it for a day and then they'd be able to sell it again. That had shut him up. But other than that the pair had barely exchanged a word.

Enjolras had resolved to speak to him when they arrived, some final parting of ways he supposed. He'd thought about it, the idea of himself heroically handing over the villain with some poignant goodbye.

Except he didn't get the chance. The three of them had barely finished explaining to the sheriff, when a couple of other men simply walked past them, took Grantaire and returned back inside to the cells, and before he could comment Enjolras found a thick role of banknotes being pressed into his hands. He'd completely forgotten about the reward being offered for Grantaire, and felt sick looking at the crumpled bits of paper. Was that really the price for a human life?

Combeferre and Courfeyrac had simply tipped their hats, and left. So without a word Enjolras followed, for the first time in a very long while he was unsure of what to do with himself. This was no case of simple right and wrong. Neither option was good, or right, or fair.

So there he was, the very next day, stood on one of the buildings wooden porches along with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, waiting for it all to happen, all the while telling himself that what he was doing was wrong.

Grantaire was in the middle of the square, a noose around his neck. He was sat upon the same horse he'd rode in on, his hands tied behind his back. The townsfolk said it was fitting, this way the sheriff wouldn't be directly responsible for Granatire's death; all he had to do was make the horse run. Gravity would take care of the rest, and apparently that made the situation better.

Enjolras' eyes fell on the cattle whip in the sheriff's hand, just as some other man began reading out a list of all the crimes the accused was wanted for. Usually Enjolras would have looked on grimly, showing his distaste for each thing that the criminal had done, but today he couldn't keep his focus.

When hanged, the victim doesn't asphyxiate, their neck snaps. Enjolras had never given it much thought but it didn't sound like a particularly nice way to die, it sounded gruesome, it sounded painful. Was it right to kill someone, a fellow human being, in such a way? Of course he should be killed.

Of course.

But surely there must be a more peaceful way to do it. He could have quickly shot him in the head when they'd first met, while he was still asleep, Grantaire would've never felt a thing. Dead or alive the wanted poster had said. Enjolras had only brought Grantaire in alive out of some misplaced sense of righteousness, to try and make himself seem more heroic, so he could get on and find Montparnasse. None of it really seemed all that important any more.

"-is sentenced to hang by the neck until death, proceed."

Courfeyrac lowered his eyes, never enjoying watching someone get killed. Enjolras refused to look down, a hollow feeling rising in his chest as the sheriff raised the whip.

Gunshots burst from the silence. Instinctively Enjolras whirled around, looking up. Against the glare of the sun he could just make out the silhouette of a man with a rifle. His eyes returned to the centre of the square but Grantaire was no longer there. The noose had been cut.

It wasn't possible, it couldn't be. To cut through a rope with a single bullet was impossible. But they had done it.

The horse had bolted from the commotion, Grantaire still on it's back as it galloped wildly from the scene. Enjolras leapt over the barrier and skidded to a halt now almost in the middle of the square, Grantaire moving further away every second. But he still had a clear shot at his back, without hesitation Enjolras raised his pistol, aiming carefully for the centre of Grantaire's back. Before pulling the trigger. The second the bang sounded Enjolras wished he hadn't done it, his gut twisted as he realised that he'd just killed a man.

 

Except that he hadn't. Grantaire was still astride his horse, his hands still tied behind his back riding for his life. Enjolras looked after him, not comprehending what had happen, when Grantaire turned and grinned at him.

And Enjolras remembered that grin from the first time he'd scene it, and what Grantaire had said to him. _When a man with a .45 meets a man with a rife, the one with the pistol is a dead man._ Enjolras couldn't do anything more than let out a sigh; he'd planned the whole thing, being captured, handed to the law. All the while knowing that someone, one of his gang members probably, would be there to make sure he didn't actually die.

_Oh he was Good._

Enjolras took in another deep breath drawing himself up to his full height. People all around the square still panicking and running around like frightened children. Enjolras knew that whoever was shooting from the rooftops would already be gone. Back to Grantaire, most likely.

Enjolras slipped another bullet into his gun. He was just going to have to beat him. Find him and wipe that stupid smile off his face so he wouldn't ever have to see it again.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Almost a week had passed and Enjolras was still not in good mood.

Once again he was inside a sheriff's office, Combeferre and Courfayrac sat either side of him, but now in a very different situation.

This time the man behind the desk was staring at them, looking thoroughly unimpressed. Enjolras felt the same. Particularly now that he had to explain himself to some rich old man who'd probably never done a decent days work in his life.

“I think that if-” Enjolras began, but the man silenced him with a wave of his hand. Enjolras gritted his teeth, he hated being interrupted, but kept silent all the same and waited for the lecture.

“I'd like the three of you to go after Montparnasse,” the older man said coolly.

Enjolras stared at him blankly, not processing what he'd said.

“What?” Combeferre asked, also confused.

“But we haven't finished our last job,” Enjolras said indignantly, before Combeferre's question could be answered. The sheriff pursed his lips, evidently he didn't like to be interrupted either, but Enjolras continued all the same “When somebody pays me to do a job I always finish it,” Enjolras said indignantly. He wasn't some hunting dog that they could order to do whatever suited them. He wasn't really sure why exactly he was arguing so hard, a few weeks ago he'd have given anything to have been told to find Montparnasse, and the Patron Minette. Now, he felt differently; he wasn't going to give up on Grantaire, or rather, on finding Grantaire. Enjolras had never come across anyone like him before, he wasn't all that sure if he still wanted to catch me, or more importantly talk to him, he had to convince him that he was wrong, and force him to see sense.

“Well I don't doubt your dedication, or skill. But I find it unlikely that you'd be able to assist us any further in the case of Grantaire.” He stopped sorting the various pieces of paper on his desk and met Enjolras' eyes “He's dead.”

“Dead?” Enjolras heard Courfeyrac echo, but his mind barely registered it. His brain seemed to speed up, trying to see, to understand how this was possible. This was Grantaire. He couldn't be dead. After all this time, it couldn't end like that.

“How does that make you feel?” The man behind the desk was leaning forwards slightly, his eyes boring accusatively into Enjolras', as though he knew exactly what he was thinking.

But even he wasn't all that sure what it was. Why should he have any other opinion on Grantaire, he simply shouldn't care, and yet the very image of his body lying cold and bloodless on the ground somewhere, his throat slit, or perhaps a single shot to the head, made him want to be sick.

Enjolras swallowed, not allowing himself to be the first to break eye contact. “Who did it?” he finally replied evenly, not bothering to answer the other's question.

“Montparnasse, apparently. Ironic, really, that the killer you wanted to hunt, just finished off the outlaw you were looking for.”

The blond didn't reply at once, his eyes having finally dropped to the floor. “He's ours then, you want us to find Montparnasse?” All the promise and excitement that the prospect had once given him was gone, replaced by a dull numbness. Things weren't supposed to end this way.

“If you can,” The man half sneered, retuning to his work. Enjorlas felt Combeferre's hand pull at his own, attempting to offer some kind of comfort, but he refused it. However the contact shocked him out of his momentary paralysis, he pulled himself to his feet trying to ignore how weak his legs felt.

He had a job to do.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Combeferre and Courfeyrac were worried about him. That much was obvious to Eenjolras.

He insisted that his restless mood, and sudden lack of interest in anything was due to him being tired. It wasn't a complete lie; he hadn't been sleeping well. But that was for the exact same reason as why he couldn't think straight any more, and it was all starting to get the better of him.

Courfeyrac had suggested they travel to Lago, the town where Marius now lived with his new wife. Courfeyrac had told the other two about his encounter with his old friend. Particularly the information about the Patron Minette having a habit of frequenting the area, also mentioning the new police inspector who'd been causing problems. For once Enjolras went without complaint, but he couldn't bring himself to make any further plans.

It took the three of them longer than they would have expected to reach the town. None of them seemed as enthusiastic, the entire affair seemed more lifelike, none of it felt right any more.

Perhaps the other two had some idea of what was wrong with Enjolras, but if they did then they didn't mention it. But seemed instead to be able to conduct entire conversations through glances. Apparently talking their leader's continued silence to mean the worst.

There were some days when the three of them simply wouldn't talk at all. But once they reached Lago, it was as though some of Enjolras' fight had been returned to him. Now it seemed like the most important thing was catching Montparnasse, whether for revenge or justice, he was no longer sure. But this time Enjolras wasn't going to make the same mistake; he would kill Montparnasse at the first opportunity rather than take him alive.

Lago was actually quiet a small town, just a handful of houses, a few stores and a church, despite it's tiny size it seemed quite accustomed to strangers. The residents looked at them cautiously, but with no trace of surprise. Clearly drifters were common in these parts.

After asking a woman from one of the tiny shops were Marius stayed, the three of them set off walking. It seemed silly to ride their horses the short distance there, so they left them tied to a post outside one of the stores. The house Marius was apparently living in was one of the last in the town. Combeferre knocked clearly on the worn wood three times. Some scuffling could be heard from behind the door before it opened up a fraction, the chain still pulled across the door. A girl with large blue eyes looked at them wearily. “Can I help you, sirs?” She asked. Her voice was polite, but there was no trace of friendliness in her voice.

“We're here to see Marius,” Courfeyrac said gently “I'm Courfeyrac, we're friends of his.” He continued when the woman made no move to open the door. Enjolras sometimes envied the ease at which Courfeyrac could talk to complete strangers. With a small flash a recognition the girl closed the door. More movement behind the door followed, along with some muffled voices, before they could hear the chain clink, and the door opened, this time revealing Marius.

Enjolras and Combeferre had met Marius on a few occasions, but didn't by any means know him well enough to greet him with anything other than a small nod and a smile. Courfyrac on the other hand yanked the gangly man into a hug, before inviting himself into the house, Enjolras and Combeferre following hesitantly after a moment or two.

They were guided down a thin hallway and into the parlour, the room was small, but comfortable, and the three of them soon settled themselves upon the various armchairs scattered around the room. The woman who'd met them at the door followed them inside, remaining quiet, evidently still a little worried about having so many strangers in her house. Enjolras couldn't really blame her, with so many outlaws riding around close by he'd have a hard time trusting anyone that he didn't know.

Courfeyrac flashed her a friendly grin “You must be Cosette? Marius has told me so much about you.” Cosette smiled slightly at that, and even more so at Marius' blush, seemingly diffusing the tension in the room.

She and Marius made a good match really, their personalities, though fairly different, seemed to compliment each other. Cosette was quite a bit shorter than Marius, her hair was a paler blond than Enjolras', but her eyes were a similar blue colour. Her skin was very pale, Enjolras noted, she was probably from a fairly wealthy family, and had spent most of her life indoor. However the sun seemed to have brought out a few freckles, but nothing compared to her husband.

Now content with her guests, Cosette smiled, and greeted them individually, before offering them drinks and then going off to prepare them. Enjolras didn't see any point in exchanging any more pleasantries.

“What do you know about the Patron Minette?”He asked plainly.

Instantly Marius was on edge again. “The Patron Minette,” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously “They pass through here a lot, cause some trouble. Last month they shot a couple of people, then vanished for a week or two.”

“What do they use for a base?” Enjolras continued. He could feel Combeferre's warning look, but just chose to ignore it.

Marius looked like a started deer “I don't know,” He stammered. Enjolras let out a huff of frustration.

“You must have some idea? You have to know something.” Enjolras continued aggressively. Marius looked ready to made a run for it, as Enjolras opened his mouth to continue ranting.

“Excuse me,” Combeferre interrupted, making a move for the door, and dragging Enjolras with him. Usually he would have fought, but he could tell that Combeferre was annoyed, so he simply let himself be steered along.

Once outside Combeferre turned to face him, looking expressionless, but Enjolras knew him better than to believe that.

“Is there a problem?” He asked, looking as though he already knew the answer “Marius is only trying to help, these are dangerous people, and he has to think about Cosette, so don't blame him for being scared.”

Enjolras turned his eyes to the floor. Opening his mouth to say something, before being cut off by Combeferre, it was just as well really, because Enjorlas didn't have any idea of what to say, everything had been so confusing lately.

“Enjolras, rest,” His friend said softly, bringing his hand to grip Enjolras' shoulder as he finally looked up to meet his eyes “Courfeyrac and I will be able to manage for one night, we just need to figure out a plan. You aren't any good to yourself when you're like this, you need sleep.”

All Enjolras could do was nod mutely, he didn't think his brain could manage devising a plan, even though he'd have welcomed the distraction. With no other option he simply followed Combeferre's advice, without complaint. Which probably caused his friend even more concern.

Cosette helped him up to the haphazard beds she had constructed for him and his friends, and Enjolras felt a rush of affection for her, she even insisted on bringing him some food up once he was settled. Enjolras rearranged the unfamiliar covers, his aching body welcomed rest, but he still didn't get a particularly good night sleep.

When he woke in the morning, with Combeferre, and Courferyac either side off him, he felt much better physically. But his mind still seemed numb, as though he was viewing everything from someone else’s perspective; information didn't seem to want to register.

However, it seemed as though getting more sleep the previous night had been the right decision. Once Courfeyrac was awake he proceeded to tell Enjolras their plan, yawning throughout, while Cosette made them breakfast, despite their mild protests that they didn't need it.

There were several large maps of the area spread out across the dining table, Combeferre and Courferyac, with the assistance of Marius and Cosette, had complied a list of places where it would be easy for the gang to use as shelter.

“It has to be somewhere nearby,” Cosette had said confidently “We don't always see them pass through the town, but we often see people riding in the hills around here,”

“Well we best make a move then,” Courfeyrac said, through another yawn, as he started to make his way to the door. Before he could get there however, he was stopped by Combeferre.

“No, Courf, you stay here today,” the taller man said “It's less suspicious to go in pairs, and someone should stay here, anyway,” It didn't sound like that much of a plausible reason to Enjolras, but it was Combeferre, and he was almost always right, so he just let it go.

Courfeyrac just shrugged before happily slumping into a chair, and kicking his feet up, while Enjolras and Combeferre left.

Throughout the ride Enjolras felt uneasy, even more than he had recently, something felt off with Combeferre. He knew that he shouldn't force his friend into telling him, he'd talk when he wanted to, so they rode in silence for some time.

They'd already been to two possible places and found them totally deserted, when Combeferre began speaking.

“You seem different lately,” He began. Enjolras didn't answer, just focussed on riding. “Since Grantaire got away,” he was choosing his words carefully, Enjolras knew he was.

“I was annoyed we didn't get him.” He answered quickly.

“Yeah, but you're not though,” Enjolras looked at him in confusion, as he continued “I've known you for years now. I know you're not-” He paused for a second seemingly struggling to find the right word “Annoyed.”

Enjolras kept silent.

“Sometimes when we loose someone who we care about it can be easy to-”

“Is this why you didn't want Courfeyrac to come?” Enjolras snapped cutting Combeferre off. “So you could lecture me?”

“Enjolras-”

“I'm fine, so you don't have to keep asking me about it.” he hissed, urging his horse forward.

He knew that he was being childish. Combeferre was only trying to help, most people would give anything to have a friend who was half as attentive as Combeferre was. But Enjolras just didn't feel ready to have anyone else involved, he could barely handle it himself. He felt like he just wanted to scream until his throat was hoarse, it was as though he wasn't in control of his own body any more, and with each second the feeling increased, making him feel more and more desperate. Thankfully Combeferre let the subject drop; discussing only their work as the day continued, and for that Enjolras was grateful.

 

By the time the two of them retuned to Marius and Cosette's house they were absolutely exhausted. They'd found no trace of the Patron Minette in any of the places they'd searched, but they weren't all that surprised; if it was that easy to find them then they'd already have been caught, but it was a starting point at least.

Courfeyrac however seemed in a very good mood when they got back. Apparently trying, and failing, to assist Marius, and Cosette in cooking dinner, but pleased with his effort all the same.

As it turned out the food wasn't too bad, however they were interrupted from dinner when a shot rang out from the town. For half a second they were all frozen in shock, more bangs followed, and in an instant they were all on their feet. Marius and Cosette watched nervously, drawing closer together as the other three headed out the door. There were shouts now, people were running around the streets in panic.

It was difficult to see what was going on, the night was dark, and the huge number of bodies running in all directions wasn't helping.

As the three of them watched helplessly two men rode away, their horses galloping wildly, as people scrambled out of the way. Evidently the Patron Minette had felt that another visit to the town was necessary.

“Look,” Courfeyrac cried, pulling Enjolras and Combeferre's attention away from the two men riding away. Someone was lying motionless on the ground, Combeferre leapt forward, shouting commands at the people dithering around, unsure of what to do, but Enjolras could tell already that it was all in vain.

Instead he turned his attention back to the two retreating figures, raising his rifle to his eyes. Since Grantaire had gotten away due to his preference for using a pistol, Enjolras had invested in a weapon with a longer shooting range, and he could see the attraction. Even as they were riding away, Enjolras had a clear shot, out of the corner of his eye he could see Courfeyrac waiting for him to shoot. But instead he lowered the gun with a sigh.

“I won't shoot a man in the back as he's running away,” Enjolras said quietly.

Courfeyrac's face twisted in distaste, but he said nothing, knowing that it would be futile.

Enjolras brought his hand up to his eyes and squinting into the darkness. It was impossible to make out much, the moon and stars shed some light on the surrounding area, but only enough to make out the silhouette of the hills. The two men on horseback were already long gone. Instead Enjolras drew back, checking the horizon in all directions, he hadn't seen where they'd come from, it would have been a good place to start from tomorrow, when something caught his attention.

There was a light on the ridge, about a mile or so behind Marius and Cosette's house, or rather there was a person holding a light. Enjolras could make out the slight movement as the person walked, he was just about to point it out to his companions when it disappeared. Apparently returning to the other side of the ridge.

“What is it?” he heard Courfeyrac ask, evidently noticing his friends preoccupation.

“There was a man on the ridge,” He replied, nodding in that direction, while straining his eyes for any more movement, but whoever it was seemed to have vanished.

“Are you sure?” Courferyac asked, squinting at the horizon.

“I'm positive,” Enjolras replied. He was about to continue when Combeferre and Marius approached them looking grim.

“You guys, had better get inside, the inspector's coming, and he doesn’t really like strangers all that much.” Marius said quietly.

Courfeyrac whispered quickly to Combeferre, as they followed Marius back indoors, no doubt about what Enjolras had just seem. The blond gave a last glance at the ridge before returning inside.

“We'll discuss it all in the morning,” Combeferre said promptly, as Courfeyrac began to speak. By now it was late, and Combeferre was right, there wasn't any point talking about it now when the three of them were half dead with tired and couldn't really take any action anyway.

While Combeferre and Courfeyrac fell asleep almost instantly that night, Enjolras couldn't get his brain to slow down, the image of the tiny pinprick of light from the top of the ridge stuck in his mind. He had the feeling of being watched and it was making him uncomfortable. When he finally found sleep it was once again broken, this time with dreams of lanterns drawing further and further away into the dark.

 

Enjorlas woke with a start the next morning, though he couldn't remember why. The two beds either side of him were deserted.

He stumbled downstairs, still half asleep to find Cosette alone in the house.

“Marius went out to see how everyone is doing after last night,” She said in explanation to his questioning glance “You're two friends left early, wanted to keep looking. They said you needed all the sleep you could get.” Enjolras nodded thoughtfully, knowing Combeferre, they'd have picked up exactly where they left off yesterday, pretty much the opposite direction from where the two members off the Patron Minette had ridden off to and where the person on the ridge had been.

He turned back to Cosette, who'd continued reading a heavy-looking book “What's on the other side of the ridge?” Enjolras asked, motioning in the correct direction.

Cosette closed her book, eyes narrowed in concentration “Nothing really,” She said apologetically.

Enjolras nodded, his mind beginning to speed up “Do you have a map?”

Cosette gave a small yes, before leading him over to the table where the maps still lay from the day before. Enjolras squinted down at the tiny illustrations with total concentration.

“Them,” He said motioning to several small shapes on the map “What are they?”

Cosette leaned forward, a small frown on her face, before replying “Just some old hunting shacks,”

“You're sure?”

She let out a small laugh, “Of course I'm sure, Papa and I used to walk past them almost every day.”

Enjolras nodded, this was exactly what he'd needed. “Would you mind terribly if I was to go out for a little while,” He asked, as politely as he could manage.

“Not at all,” She replied cheerfully.

“You're sure you'll be alright?” he checked, genuinely concerned. Cosette couldn't suppress a small laugh, as she replied.

“I managed to take care of myself just fine before I married Marius, you know.” she giggled, coaxing a rare smile from Enjolras as well, while he turned to leave.

He didn't bother taking his horse this time, preferring to walk. It only took him around three quarters of an hour to reach the top of the ridge. Once there he allowed himself a moment to rest. Now he was doing something he felt slightly better, the small distraction wasn't much, but at least it was taking his mind off Grantaire.

Now at the top, Enjolras had a clear view of the other side; it was a bleak and desolate landscape. Only the occasional rocky outcrop or wispy brush broke up the dusty ground. He could see the small row of shacks not too far off, several were nothing more than a pile of rotting wood, but a few still remained standing. Drawing his gun, Enjolras approached quietly, he made a quick check of each hut to make sure that they were empty before going inside. Though no one was there now, it was obvious that someone was living in them. The largest shank contained a makeshift bed, empty food cans littered one corner, and there seemed a large enough supply of whisky to keep a man well-stocked for a month.

Enjolras was just examining a small drawing pinned to one of the walls when he heard footsteps. Silently he resumed his position, his gun trained on the doorway, ready to shot any enemy who tried to enter the shack. The person walked closer and closer, before stopping just short of the doorway.

A heartbeat went by before a familiar voice spoke.

“It's a little cold out here Apollo, I wonder if I might come inside without being shot.”

The gun slipped from Enjolras' hands “Grantaire?”He whispered incredulously as the dark haired man appeared in the doorway.

He was thinner than Enjolras remembered, and his appearance was even more scruffy than when they had last met. The stubble on his chin had grown even more prominent, and hid hair was a wild mess of curls. Grantaire's clothes looked even more ragged, he now opted for a heavy overcoat, his pocket watch sticking out of the pocket. But more than anything, he looked tired.

"I thought you were dead." Enjolras said quietly. This wasn't making sense, he didn't understand.

"Apparently, not," He could tell that Grantaire was trying to act nonchalant, yet he was staring at the ground refusing to met Enjolras' eye.

"Why?" He couldn't stop the words, and he sounded angry. Enjolras hadn't been before, but now that he was here, right in front of him, very much alive, he was furious. "Why would you pretend to be dead?"

It took Grantaire a second to answer "Sometimes it's better to disappear for a while," he finally said, looking Enjolras in the eye at last.

"Obviously," Enjolras forced himself to meet the other's eye "I assume it's easy for you to just disappear, and it must be fantastic at getting people to stop following you," Enjolras kept his voice from breaking at the end, but only just.

Had Grantaire hated him that much? Hundreds of people must have tried to catch him, half the country wanted him dead, but it was Enjolras that he'd run away from.

"I needed a new start. Aren't you the one who's always going on about new beginnings and such?" Grantaire spoke quietly, leaning against the door of the shack, but there was definitely an accusative tone in his voice.

Enjolras was at a loss for words. He'd felt so guilty, he didn't even understand why, but now it was ten times worse. He didn't feel betrayed at all, but the pain was still there in his chest, and he wished that couldn't feel a thing.

"So what do you do now?" Grantaire spoke again, taking advantage of the others silence "going to run back to the police?"

"No." Enjolras spoke quicker than he'd meant to, his head snapping upwards at the accusation. He'd never had much respect for the corrupt police system in place, but he'd always had some kind of hope to improve it. Whereas now, after everything, it didn't see like it was possible. That, however, was a subject for another time, right now all he felt was a burning resentment for the supposedly honourable sheriffs and their deputies. Enjolras didn't really want to help them with anything, but he was almost certain that even if he did, he wouldn't allow them to kill Grantaire.

The man in question looked as though he struggled to get up every morning, yet alone do anyone any harm. It was as though he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Enjolras felt sorry for him.

"If you truly want to change you're life then what right do I have to stop you," Enjolras continued coolly "But I do want you to come with me, I have something to discuss with you."

"Of course," Grantaire replied pushing off the wall "Lead on."

 

~ ~ ~

 

To Cosette's everlasting credit, she didn't ask many questions about a known criminal taking up residence in her house. Not to say that she wasn't startled, because when she'd seen the pair of them standing on her doorstep, she looked ready to slam the door in their faces, but thankfully she'd had the courtesy to invite them in instead. In fact Combeferre and Courfeyrac's reactions were by far more entertaining. Courfeyrac nearly tripped over a chair when he saw Grantaire, and Combeferre being at a loss for words was a rare sight indeed.

"How in God's name did you pull that off?" Courfeyrac asked sounded stuck between annoyance and reverence.

Grantaire gave a small shrug "My friend's a good shot, we've done it before,"

"No, no," Courfeyrac replied animatedly, "Not the noose-hanging-get away thing, although, that was pretty impressive, I mean, well, we all thought you were dead."

“If you start a rumour in a small town in the middle of nowhere, nobody checks.” The other replied simply "Why are you here?" Grantaire continued, as the others remained quiet.

Combeferre cleared his throat, seemingly coming to himself once more "Hunting Montparnasse, and the Patron Minette." Grantaire raised his eyebrows at the answer but remained quiet.

"And yourself?" Courfeyrac inquired.

"Unfinished business," was the muttered reply he received.

Cosette spoke up for the first time "Well you're very welcome here," she said graciously. Grantaire looked a little sceptical but grateful all the same, as she led him through to the parlour.

Enjolras had been dreading trying to explain this to Marius, but apparently it had all been for nothing. The pair seemed to get on rather well, friendly even, as they chatted about some mutual acquaintance through dinner. The others were barely able to get a word in.

After dinner Grantaire retreated to their temporary bedroom, now even more cramped, with the addition of an extra bed. Enjolras tried to make himself wait half an hour before following him, but only managed ten minutes until he assended the narrow staircase.

Grantaire was still awake as he'd hoped. The man was sat with his back to the wall fidgeting with the bed sheets.

"So you're hunting Montparnasse?" Grantaire said breaking the silence.

"Yes," the dark haired man didn't look at Enjolras as he replied.

"And you want me to help you?" Grantaire continued slowly. Enjolras couldn't help but crack a small smile at that. He hadn't found the right words to ask Grantarie, that was one of the reasons that he'd followed him upstairs, so he could ask him. Apparently Grantaire had been able to tell all along.

"Yes." Enjolras answered softly, and Grantarie finally looked up at him.

"It's a stupid idea." He said simply. A scowl found it's way onto Enjolras' face.

"What?"

"You heard me." Grantaire continued "You can try and pretend that you're not scared of him, but-”

“I'm not scarred of him.” Enjolras interrupted, angrily.

“Then you're either stupid or naive."

Enjolras stared at him for a second, completely outraged at what he was hearing, before he snapped "Just because I'm not a cynical drunkard with no ambition, doesn't make me stupid,"

The hurt in Grantaire's eyes was clear, but he ignored Enjolras' comment and continued “He's a murderer.”

“You're a murderer,” Enjolras pointed out incredulously.

“No,” Grantaire replied so sharply, that it demanded Enjolras' silence, he couldn't remember Grantaire ever looking so serious. “I'm a killer, if someone comes after me, or gets in my way then I kill them. I never go out looking to kill someone, I'm not a murderer. But he is."

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you," Enjorlas shot back sarcastically.

"I know it's a small difference to an angel like yourself, but it's the truth." Grantaire sneered in response.

Enjolras could feel his temper rising, all the anger that had been built up for the past week, was starting to come out "And just because of that you think that nobody should do anything about it?"

"I'll help you, okay." Grantaire almost shouted, Enjolras simply turned away frowning, his anger gone as quickly as it had come. Grantaire continued, his voice was suddenly quiet "But don't you dare treat it as a favour because I'm not doing it for you."

He turned back to Grantaire, perhaps to apologise, but was instead distracted. The other man was hunched over, his hands pulling out his pocket watch and flicking the cover open with practised ease. Enjolras remembered it vaguely, it's polished gold metal, not fitting with the rest of Grantaire's appearance. Enjolras would have thought it stolen, if, Grantaire hadn't been pouring over it with such attention.

Enjolras shook himself once he realised he'd been staring. It didn't make all that much difference to him anyway, he told himself.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Montparnasse sat at a rickety old table inside one of the abandoned buildings they'd hijacked. Several members of his gang, including Claquesous and Babet surrounded him, some sat on chairs, others stood, a couple were sleeping. It was rather late he supposed, but he wasn't tired, his fingers traced over the lid of a small gold pocket watch, the surface was starting to become worn, he flicked it opened easily.

His eyes quickly became entranced by the small picture in the lid of the pocket watch. The girl in it was beautiful as she smiled at the camera, Montparnasse had never seen her like that, but he did remember every detail of her appearance.

Her dark hair falling onto her shoulder, her big blue eyes staring at nothing.

She hadn't been the first person Montparnasse had killed, but she was the one that had stuck in his memory the most; he'd told her that he only wanted her money, he hadn't been in the mood to kill that night, so in some twisted way it seemed wrong for him to hurt her. Montparnasse could see her clearly in his head, sat in the corner of her room and she had been scared of him. In that moment he had felt more ashamed than he had in the rest of his life.

He hadn't realised what he'd done until she was already dead.

The only things he'd managed to steal from her house that had been ten dollars and the small pocket watch on her dressing table.

Something had shifted inside him after that, he became less than a human. There now something unhinged about his nature, the pocket watch became almost an obsession. Each time he would shoot someone he would hear that same tune, hear it and think about her. He would hear it when he slept, when he ate, all the time he would hear it, and so he would think about her all the time. Every note of the watch's song was engraved into his memory.

That was one of the main reasons why he never lost a shoot out. His own fixation with the locket had become almost his signature; they would shoot when the music ended, and Montparnasse always knew before them, so they would be dead less than a second after the final note, before they had even comprehend that the tune had finished.

To him it seemed almost beautiful.

His thoughts were broken by the entrance of Gueulemer, his heavy footsteps could be heard a mile off.

"There are bounty hunters in Lago," he said stupidly. The others turned to face Montparnasse, knowing better than to make a suggestion.

Usually Montparnasse would have simply laughed, and ordered everyone to saddle their horses, and move on to another town. But tonight he felt a little more daring. Carefully he closed the pocket watch, cutting it off mid tune.

"Well then," Montparnasse rose to his feet, his hand replacing the stolen watch in his inside coat "I suppose we've got some work to do."

 

~ ~ ~

 

"Get up!"

The four of them were woken up in the morning by Cosette's frantic voice. "They know, the Patron Minette know that there are bounty hunters here. They're in the town."

Without another word Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac were up. Grantaire right behind them, as they ran through the house to the door. Outside, all hell had broken loose. People were running backwards and forwards, screams mingling with gunshots, and the thundering of horses hooves.

Gathering his thoughts Enjolras turned to face the other, Marius appearing behind them.

"Combeferre and Courfeyrac you go to the middle of the town, it sounds like most of the shooting is coming from there, and try and get as many of them as you can. It'll keep them occupied until we can find Montparnasse. Marius and I will go to the police station, we need to telegram the next town over. Grantaire, you stay here with Cosette, and wait for Marius and I to come back."

Grantaire opened his mouth to argue, but was silenced by a look from Enjolras.

"Let's go," Combeferre said, pulling Courfeyrac with them. Grantaire tried to catch Enjolras' eye, but he'd already turned away, with Marius in tow, leaving Grantaire to retreat inside the house with Cosette.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Courfeyrac swore loudly, as he ducked inside one of the buildings.

There were more of them than they had first expected. But that was fine, Combeferre tried to tell himself.

“Okay then,” Courfeyrac recognised Combeferre's lets-remain-calm-even-though-we're-probably-going-to-die voice “We just have to hold them off, while Enjolras deals with Montparnasse." Combeferre checked his belt, feeling his heart sink as he realised that he was down to his last five bullets.

"There's more ammunition in my saddle bag, I'll run and get it, and you can cover me, just make sure you get anyone who tries to kill me before they manage it, okay?” As he spoke Combeferre started to angle himself so he was ready to run, the horses were just a few feet away, all looking unsettled from the loud noises. It would just take him a few seconds to run there and back, but bullets were much faster that that. Even so, he fancied his chances.

Or he did until Courfeyrac half muttered “Well, you see, the thing is I've never actually shot anyone before,”

Combeferre let his breath out as a hiss through gritted teeth “You picked one hell of a time to tell me,”

Unable to stop himself Courfeyrac let out an almost hysterical laugh, as Combeferre took in a long breath, before sprinting through the door.

His hand closed around the bag, as a hail of bullet erupted around him, most of them hitting the post in front of the horses, before throwing himself back inside the building. If it wasn't for them being a terrible shot then he'd probably be dead.

“You call that covering?” He hissed, pulling himself off the floor.

“You call that running?” Courfeyrac retorted. Slotting more bullets into his gun "If Enjolras manages to pull this off, and we get out of this alive then I quit." He said simply, positioning himself so he was ready to shoot.

"That makes two of us," Combeferre muttered in reply, peering slowly through one of the broken windows.

 

~ ~ ~

 

Grantaire paced up and down restlessly. _What was taking Enjolras and Marius so long?_

Cosette was asking herself the same question, he could tell. Yet the two of them remained silent, the bangs and shouts from the rest of the town sounded they were coming from right outside the house. The noises continued in short bursts and he couldn't help but think about whether or not Combeferre and Courfeyrac were on the receiving end or not.

Grantaire kept pacing, feeling more and more anxious by the second, when suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. Cosette froze, mirroring his sudden stillness.

“Can you smell smoke?” he said slowly, Cosette whirled around looking terrified.

“The house,” She gasped “They've set the house on fire.” Without waiting for any further confirmation Grantaire grabbed her arm and ran. She stumbled a little on the stairs but didn't stop. By the time they made it downstairs the entire front room was being engulfed in flames, greyish smoke filled the hallway, surrounding the pair of them, as Cosette steered them in the other direction towards the back door, coughing and wretching all the while. They'd barely made it through, when the windows blew out showering their backs with tiny shards of glass.

“Go,” Grantaire hissed, as he felt an acidic burning rising from his chest “Find Marius and get out of here,” He ordered Cosette. The girl didn't need telling twice, with a final glance back at Grantaire she disappeared around the corner, just as Grantaire had no choice but to double over, emptying the contents of his stomach. An arm wrapped around his shoulder, Grantaire was about to jerk away when he heard Enjolras' voice

“Grantarie! Are you okay?” He sounded genuinely concerned, Grantaire did his best to nod.

“The house-” He wheezed, gesturing vaguely to the wooden frame now completely alight.

"That bastard," Enjolras growled.

"He's mine," Grantaire responded, straightening up and trying to make he voice come out stronger.

"We have a better chance if we work together-"

"No," Grantaire snapped, pulling Enjolras closer "If you want to do anything to help me then let me do this, please. You have to promise that I can be the one to kill Montparnasse."

“You can't win Grantaire, He'll kill you.” Enjolras implored, but he could see the unyielding stubborn in the other man's eyes “Grantaire be serious,”

“I'm wild,” He replied without missing a beat. He turned back to face Enjolras, seemingly making up his mind, before leaning forward and kissing him.

Enjolras' arms went cautiously to Grantaire's waist, not completely sure what to do with them. The kiss wasn't at all like he'd expected it; it was hard, and desperate. He could taste the smoke on Grantaire's lips, and it was perfect. But just seconds later he was pulling away, and turning around, leaving Enjolras standing there stunned.

"Grantaire, what are you doing?"

"Going," he replied hastily.

"Why?" Enjolras couldn't keep the hurt from his voice.

“Please, Apollo, why would someone like you ever love someone like me?” And without even bothering to wait for a reply, he'd turned away again, this time Enjolras strode after him.

"Don't you dare walk away from me," he hissed as pressed their hands together and spun Grantaire around “I don't care what you think. I do love you and I am coming with you.” He stated firmly.

Enjolras had never been able to express his emotions well, saying it outright was the best he could do, but to Grantaire it seemed to be the world. His face broke into a smile, yet he replied “No, I need you to stay here.”

“But-” Enjolras began, before being cut off.

“If you wait for me, I'll do whatever it takes to get back to you,” Grantaire said simply. His expression was so sincere that it rendered Enjolras speechless, all his could do was nod his head shakily. Almost reverently Grantaire placed a small kiss on his forehead, before once again turning away, this time drawing his pistol, while Enjolras watched him go.

Grantaire paced slowly around the side of the building. Montparnasse wouldn't be with the rest of his gang, he preferred to work alone.

Sure enough, as Grantaire turned a corner a single shot rang out, hitting the post just inches from his head. Grantaire ducked on instinct, his pistol slipped from his fingers as he stumbled forward, to avoid being shot. He cursed his his own stupidity, as a figure stepped out from a building opposite, and Grantaire realised with a sickening jolt that it was Montparnasse.

Now that he saw him standing right there in front of him, Grantaire was sure that he hated him just enough to kill him this way.

Montparnasse's eyes went from Grantaire's gun which lay just in front of him, to Grantaire himself. A twisted grin found it's way to his face, as he replaced his own gun into his belt. Carefully he drew out a small golden pocket watch. Grantaire swallowed.

“When the chimes end try and shoot me,” Montparnasse sneered “Just try,”

He flicked the catch of his pocket watch and even over the din of the fire Grantaire could hear the high pitched chimes of the melody. His eyes flicked down to his pistol, lying on the dusty ground less than a metre away. Even now he couldn't keep a small bitter smile from his face, of all the times he'd imagined shooting Montparnasse, he'd always used his rifle, but in the grand scheme of things it didn't make all that much difference.

The other man was staring at him, Grantaire could easily make out his eyes flashing from the firelight. If there was any recognition in Montparnasse's eyes, then Grantaire must have been too far a way to see it, but for a second he fancied he saw the other man's eyes flick down to the picture in the watch before returning to him.

The music started to slow down a little, Grantaire could see the other man tense ever so slightly, not wanting to give away that the music was ending, thinking that it was his advantage, because no one else in the world knew that tune. Except that Grantaire did know it, better than anyone in fact. Montparnasse might listen to it every time he had a shoot out with someone, but Grantaire knew it better, he would recall it every night before he went to sleep, almost like a prayer

It would take him half a second to reach his gun, however Montparnasse wouldn't be expecting him to react that fast, and if Grantaire was destined to die, then he was sure as hell taking Montparnasse with him.

Montparnasse's confidence in winning, was almost funny. There he was smirking to himself, all the while unaware that he had chosen the wrong person to fight with; unfortunately it was an irony that Montparnasse himself would never get to appreciate.

Grantaire was poised, ready to run, the last cluster of notes began. Montparnasse started to move.

Then the same tune started again, loud and clear, to their left. Both Grantaire and Montparnasse froze, there heads turning to the source of the music. Enjolras was standing there, in his hand something gold glinted, Grantaire recognised his pocket watch, his hand went instantly to his inside pocket to find it empty. In the back of his mind Grantaire recalled Enjolras pulling him back, his hand coming close to his pocket.

For the first time, Grantaire recognised a flicker of panic in Montparnasse's eyes. It seemed he'd finally realised the possibility that Grantaire knew the watch's tune better than him, or perhaps it was because he'd finally realised who Grantaire was.

Slowly Enjolras walked to Grantaire, his rifle never leaving Montparnasse. A small smile made it's way onto Grantaire's face with the knowledge that Enjolras now used a rifle.

“Try this,” Enjolras said, passing Grantaire his own gun before he returned to his place at the side, keeping his promise of allowing Grantaire to be the one to kill Montparnasse.

The watches chimes began to slow down once again, Montparnasse wasn't moving. Grantaire shifted his hand slightly further along his belt, now just centimetres from the butt of his gun. The final note rung out, and before it had ended Grantaire had shot.

One bullet was all that he had needed.

Grantaire forced himself to walk forward, tucking the pistol back into his belt as he went. Upon reaching the body, he bent down and plucked the second watch from Montparnasse's hand, before pointedly turning away.

Enjolras remained where he was, examining the picture in the lid of the watch he was holding. It showed the smiling face of a young woman, probably in her late teens, her black hair fell past her shoulders in ornate curls. The shape of her nose and mouth was svery familiar to Enjolras, and though the photo was black and white, he would have been willing to bet that her eyes were a dark blue colour.

Grantaire wondered back, as Enjolras looked up "I see the family resemblance," she said offering the pocket watch to it's rightful owner.

"As you'd expect between brother and sister," Grantaire replied, taking it from Enjolras "How did you know?"

"I tried to familiarise myself with all the people he'd killed. I knew the stories about Montparnasse's watch, and then I saw yours and they seemed," he tried to search for the correct word "similar."

"They were gifts from when we were young, they're the only two in the world that match," Grantaire answered in a fond voice, still staring at the grainy photograph "She was the best person I've ever known," Grantaire said quietly.

Enjolras wrapped his hand around Grantaire's, trying his best to comfort him "The worst's over now," he murmured against Grantaire's neck.

For a second it looked as though Grantaire was going to kiss him again, but instead he pulled away "You'd better get going, Combeferre and Courfeyrac might need a little help with the rest of them." Grantaire said, trying to turn away.

"I'm sure they can manage," Enjolras let his hand move upwards, coming to rest upon Grantaire's neck "You won't disappear again, I won't let you run away from me."

Grantaire looked a little ashamed "I wasn't running away, I just-" he let out a small sigh "I wanted to start again, and make myself better, for you." He added the last part almost as an afterthought.

Enjolras smiled slightly, bringing their foreheads together, before whispering "Don't you dare try and change yourself again."

"Whatever you want, blondie."

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to [324b21-dyad](http://324b21-dyad.tumblr.com/) for Beta-ing this fic. Also come and say hi on [tumblr](http://les-mizfits.tumblr.com/) :)


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